The Computer? It CAN Bring People Together! Who Knew?

Hello Fellow Travelers!

A few of you have asked, (and as well you should) "Hey, Cancer Head!  What does your spouse do for fun while you're "getting better"?  Well, he does all kinds of things,  on his computer, when I go to sleep, hmmm, now that I see it in print it doesn't look so great.  Mostly what I see anyway, is him checking out his Facebook account, he has a respectable amount of friends.  Not as many as my youngest niece who counts her Facebook friends in the thousands.  I have four Facebook friends, I think your online life should reflect your offline life.

I didn't fully understand the "point" of social media, until my spouse alerted me to a spirited game of WTF? that featured an old friend of his, his friend's unicorn tattoo (yes, I said unicorn tattoo!) and a lot of people who knew both.  If I understand correctly, his friend wanted other FB friends to spell out their WTF? moments.  What ended up being posted were all the friends and family, current and from the past, who all had memories of this guy and his tattoo!  It was hysterical!  His daughter, his ex-wife, his friends all took turns posting hilarious recollections of that guy and his unicorn tat.

To be fair, this guy looked a lot like Leif Garret back in the day so I could understand the necessity of a tattoo, but a unicorn?  That's a huge commitment, especially for the 80's!  But I digress. It was a joy to watch/read, everyone giving this fellow grief, and telling great stories to boot!  Of course my honey had a great story of his own to contribute.

Hey, it had a life of it's own. I personally wondered where his Puka shells were and my other half had a snarky suggestion about Tiger Beat magazine.  Go Social Media!  

What I Now Have in Common with SWIII - Revenge of the Sith

Hello Fellow Travelers!

We've known each other what, 6 or 7 weeks?  Some marriages don't last this long.  Anyway, we've been traveling together long enough for me to share a sensitive aspect of this brain tumor process which is by it's very nature, low on my list of things to deal with but tragic to me nonetheless.  That painful aspect of  this process is the huge toll an extensive brain injury/surgery does to your face.  I was lucky to keep most of my hair, thanks to extensive dental work and daily trips to the gym, my caloric intake is far less than the output, resulting in not just a different size but also a different shape.  However, there is no haircut, dental implant  or exercise that will repair your face after brain surgery.

As the evil emperor disguised as the equally evil Chancellor Palpatine in Star Wars III remarked, "These battles have left me scarred and disfigured."  Or something like that, of course, the Emperor/Chancellor guy was lying (Was the actor tired of changing costumes?  Was it integral to the story?) I did mention he was evil.  I wasn't setting the world on fire before this calamity befell me. I was barely holding my own.  Does this aspect of brain well, brain anything, I guess, bother men too?  It's low on my huge list of "Things to Fix", because, oh I don't know, oh, let's see, oh, now I remember, I CAN'T WRITE A STUPID LIST YET!'

After I remember how to walk and talk, and get my vision back, and get at least one hand operational, then I'll be able to put a dollar amount on my face.  See what I mean?  Way down on the list!  You want to know something else?  It doesn't matter at all.

Cure for Cancer? Not Yet, Soon and a Woman Will Figure It Out

Hello Fellow Travelers!

On this short and sometimes ridiculous journey we call,"Life".  Someone asked me who the "fellow travelers" were, I thought it was pretty clear, but here is a freaking clarification for those guys, (and I mean men) who require it.  I just watched a five and one half hour baseball game, (A's/Yankees not even the Giants!) I do my part, I willingly watch my other half's sports.  (Well, one team, one sport and one year because I was stuck in front of the t.v. anyway, I thought I should at least learn something, but the point is, I watch!).  So I've noticed that men have a few topics they can comfortably throw out there anytime with anyone.  Sports is one of those topics that seems to even the playing field.  If you know your sports you can talk to any man or get any man to talk.  Baseball in particular, seems to cut through generations, levels of education even countries of origin.

Girls in particular, women in general spend lots of time wondering what lots of boys and men are thinking.  These same females might have cured HIV, or developed a cure for any number of cancers, had they taken all that power and intellect and applied it to real problem solving.  Because, Smart Girls, I'll let you in on a little secret the Smart Ladies have known since we were Smart Girls - those boys weren't, those men aren't thinking about anything special, maybe Baseball, or cars.  There will soon be a cure for cancer (Hey, CNN's Dr. Sanjay Gupta claims a cure is coming soon, I believe him!), and some NOT lovelorn female will be leading the charge!

The Right Hand Doesn't Know (and doesn't care) What the Left Hand is Doing (Seriously, it has no idea!)

Hello Fellow Travelers! 

Recently I had to take  a long, hard, look at  the seeming rapid deterioration of  my right hand.  The right hand had been doing all the work since I broke my left elbow in 2008, and I was left-handed.  I wrote left-handed, played tennis left-handed and cooked left handed.  Since the left side of me has been slowly healing I have relied on the right side, more specfically, on my right hand.  The left is catching up, but it's healing at a much slower pace than the right hand is failing.

I was so distracted by all the things on my body that didn't work correctly I took for granted the one appendage that did work.  Now, both hands are barely accomplishing what my right hand did all by itself for years!  I forgot just how long the right has been carrying the load, it's been somewhere near four years!!!   No wonder my right hand is tired!

So, my fine motor skills are not so fine after all.  My left paw is what I think of as my "Jimmy Hand", (another Seinfeld reference, sorry, I was watching a fair amount of t.v. in the 90's too!), it seems to have a mind of it's own, really strong but it goes everywhere, anywhere, wreaking chaos and destruction in it's path.  Seriously, it's like it's possessed, and the more nervous I become the more violently the "Jimmy Hand" reacts!

So my poor right hand has almost entirely lost the ability to pick up or hold anything and I've got the left flying around anywhere, everywhere.  I have not the first clue what to do about this.  I'd love to hear any ideas out there for hand revitalization and I will seek medical attention early next week and let you guys know what I find out.

A Perfect Storm...In My Mouth? OR My Adventures In Dentistry Part II

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The very last thing I need right now are painful, structural and, worst of all, multiple visits to the dentist.  But here they are and apparently I do need them because the stupid radiation weakens the teeth.  So even though I had healthy, happy teeth for lots o' years, 16 weeks of radiation (combined with a ferocious sweet tooth) ruined their health and added yet another dimension of pain and financial stress to my life.  Thank you tumor!  My patient spouse has reminded me that the Radiation Oncologist did, in fact,warn us about this particular side effect.  I guess when she was rattling off that information I was tuning her out like an adult in a Charlie Brown Special (you know, woh, wohwohwhong...).

Now I have to get all kinds of dentistry done just so I can have healthy enough teeth to whiten, some day, probably when the cancer comes back.  Just Kidding.  Seriously though, what are the chances of feeling maxed out on body blows and requiring many pain-filled visits to the dentist?  The chances seem to be pretty good.  Unlike  my luck, which has been decidedly not.  Good that is.

Subject of an Essay? Color Me Not Ready

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I know my son is in a difficult grade (7th) and he needs to write his first essay about something he knows but did it have to be the events leading up to and including the discovery of my brain tumor?  Honestly, it really bothers me to hear he and his dad revisit some of the bizarre benchmarks on my journey and my son's reaction to them.  It is a little unusual, I admit (I hope it's weird) to have a mom-with-a-brain-tumor, but to hear him tell it, I should have had a clue something was up years ago.

Something wicked this way came (Ray Bradbury), (and went) and I hope it doesn't come this way again!  I can't stand to hear about the genesis of the cancer from anyone's point of view not even my own.  I'm feeling guilt as a mother, guilt as a wife, amazement at everything I've survived,  surprise at how great I feel sometimes.  So I guess there is nothing that should prevent my son from using my horrible personal pain to hopefully get a decent grade in Language Arts (English for us older folks).

I don't have to help him, do I?

Parent/Teacher Meeting - Like Taking A Bullet

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Added to the long list of places I have no business being just yet:    the all-important parent/teacher meeting! We thought we were meeting with one teacher.  We met with all seven of them AND the school psychiatrist AND the school Vice-Principal.  I guess it was a slow Monday at school.  Thankfully, they only had good things to say about my child, so there was that.  

However, being a mute in a wheelchair is not any way to attend any meeting, or go anyplace where you might be compelled to speak and you can't.  Only doctor's offices, possibly the hair stylists', the only 'offices' I currently have any business in.  Doctors' offices because going to those guys affords me the rare opportunity to say, "What the hell, Dude?"  That's always good for a laugh.

I know schoolteachers are a relatively easy group to get my meeting feet wet with, they are very nice people, most teachers are very nice, that's why they're teachers and not serial killers, right?  If I can't contribute anything to a discussion about my own child, all I can do is listen intently and hope my spouse asks all the right questions.  Welcome to the new reality!

Time is No Longer On My Side...

I may be trapped.  I may be completely unable to move independently.  I am, however, keenly aware of the passage of time.  On paper, on my son's grades in the online format, on my face, proof of time's uncaring and inevitable passage is everywhere on everything and everyone.  My maternal grandmother died at my age and she was a nurse.   My parents are still alive and well, thank God.  I am thankful because I come from a long line of people who died young.

I used to measure time as something to be endured.  At the hospital, especially, then at home, counting the hours until a medical professional refreshed my IV (at the hospital) or when it was time for pills (at home).  That was over a year ago now I do that at the gym.  60 minutes on the bike, 50 minutes on the bench, :watching my life go by.  Knowing with every passing hour that no matter what I do those hours roll into another day I've lost forever.  Not knowing when or where the next challenge will present itself, keeps me on    my toes and on my guard.

"Get busy living or get busy dying!", I think Morgan Freeman said that, in a movie.  I have to get better, fast. So I can get on with the business of living, and yes, The Holidays are going to bite.  Hard.

Momentary Crisis of faith - Little f

Hello Fellow Travelers!


No clever stories from Cancerville (right down the interstate from Tumor Town) today.  I'm having a rare crisis of Faith.  Maybe I wrote it wrong.  Using expressions of speech where they don't belong.  My crisis isn't of The Faith, it's of faith in myself, faith that I'm getting any better.  My spouse warned me that the healing would be so gradual I wouldn't notice it.  Well, he's  right about that much, (actually, he's been right about many things, but I'll never tell him that!) I don't notice any healing today.  I hope I notice something tomorrow, life shouldn't be a series of assaults.  I also think I don't have much more time to get better.

Another Delightful Side Effect - I'm Now a Tasmanian Devil

Hello Fellow Travelers!

First, a couple of corrections to yesterdays' blog; I forgot a small word (the) it has since been added.  The film I referenced was from South Africa, not Australia.  It makes a little more sense that it was a thinly veiled swipe at Apartheid.  Actually, I'm not really sure there is anything veiled about it.  District 9 is pretty in-your-face about the filmmakers' viewpoint on Apartheid, I mean come on, Roach People living in a ghetto?  Who were they talking about?  Anyway, it was brought to my attention and I have corrected it,  the emotion I was trying to evoke was loneliness which I believe cuts across all peoples.  And all species.

Enough about racists and Roach People.  Today I want to talk about rampant, unrelenting clumsiness.  No one warned me about this, but it  starts out bad and gets worse.  I would categorize my current clumsiness somewhere around a 3,  Hurricane Katrina being a 5.  I just don't knock things down I drag things across great distances.  If there is any liquid, it doesn't merely spill, it looks as though it's been flung and then stepped in.  I mean really, although nobody ever accused me of being Princess Grace, I didn't destroy a tablesetting with such ferocity and uncanny accuracy.  A talented toddler couldn't approach my level of destruction!  Sometimes even I have to laugh at myself so incredulous I am at the havoc I've wreaked!
What do I do?  I'll tell you what I do, the thing any self-respecting, red-blooded, American does;  avoid the entire problem whenever possible!  Tell myself that it's just one more thing, just one more log (on the ever burning bonfire of stress)I try to understand, as all foodies do, that the world is full of food and I can't eat all of it.  Put in it's simplest terms:  If it looks too daunting, I don't bother.  Eating.  Or drinking.

Now that eating and drinking are projects that have to be mastered, I am more particular than ever about what I consume.  That makes sense to me for now.  Oh, I have lots of straws too.

District 9? I Kinda Live There...And it SUCKS!!!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

My caregiver has to eat something, so while he does that, I will try to walk or at least stand.  I will stand! OK, I can stand.  Big deal, right?  Unfortunately for me, standing unassisted, is a really big deal.  How does one measure success at recovery?  I've never been in better shape, but it's a shape gathered from unbelievable stress, on my body and my soul.  I feel like I should carry a large weapon (Uzi?) on my back, and always be ready for the next assault. Because I never know when the attack is coming or from where, but it will come.

 We saw a movie, before I had the tumor removed,(forever after known as BTR, as in, Before Tumor Removal) called "District 9", it was an Australian film where cockroach looking space aliens are stuck on Earth, and humans treat them like scum. It features one, racist, human who, over time, turns into a cockroach man and has to live among the Roach People. If you haven't seen it, it will get you thinking. Plus, the part where the racist guy turns into a huge mopey, cockroach  is pretty awesome!  It was sad though, he had to live with the aliens ( in District 9) but he missed his family (human), he was a bug-alien and could only watch his family from a distance at the end.  It was sad because he didn't fit in anywhere, he was one, lonely, large, roach and I relate to him!  I am afraid on a daily basis, I see myself changing every day and I don't fit in anywhere.  I'm too young to fit in with the old folks and too old to belong with the younger set.  I am too crippled to do any of the activities I used to enjoy and far too obstinate to ever entertain the idea that I won't do them again.

As my voice gets fainter and I get harder to understand, I get quieter and quieter.  It's lonely inside my head, no wonder Clint Eastwood talks to empty chairs.  Maybe he's lonely, I can understand that...I

Stuff I Used To Do And Wonder If I'll Ever Do Again

For some reason I have been thinking a lot about shoes, specifically high heels.  I wonder when I will get to wear them again.  Lucky for me, I suppose, that I get InStyle magazine (Thanks Mom!), so I've seen many outfits and many, many new shoes.  I find most new shoes (you know the ones) to be, in a word, butt-ugly.  I was OK with "The Return of the Platforms", cutting out the toes, not so much.  I mention shoes because while I see plenty of other new things I'd like to have, shoes are not on the list, at least not new ones.  So that's one less thing to worry about missing.

Being able to see well enough to apply my own makeup or being able to cook would be good too.  Will I ever drive again?  More basic than driving?  How about will I ever ride my bike again?  Once that I was firmly convinced that rest and medication were not going to fix anything(about a year ago), I got to work proving (to myself, mostly) that nothing would help me but my brain's plasticity and a lot of daily exercise (also about 12 months ago).  Relying on myself to repair the damage is a little tiresome, but understandable.

I plan on increasing my Practice Walks and workouts, in number as well as in length and duration,which I increase every week anyway.  For some reason, deprivation and really hard physical labor make perfect sense to me.  Now, for instance,  I have worked too hard to let up now!  My hair just started to come back, too!  No, I don't need new shoes, what I need is a plan.

Unappealing Options

I saw my neurosurgeon today and he conveyed to me that he's not happy with my progress.  I'm certainly not pleased (bank robbers and some drug dealers have served less time than I have)and kindly offered some really unappealing surgical options.  Anytime I hear the word, "shunt", I shudder a little.  Sort of like when I hear the word "catheter", that's good for an involuntary cringe or two.  It must have been a banner day for someone someplace because the "shunts" and "catheters" were discussed at length.  And semi-permanent, also mentioned.  I'm not a big fan of anything semi-permanent, either make a commitment to permanence or don't.  The term "semi" implies that the recipient of whatever is "semi" has a choice of keeping or discarding said item when, in reality, it's the installer who keeps the control because the installer has the expertise to remove the "semi-permanent" whatever.

In any event, I have a couple more doctors to see and a little time to consider these and other appealing options.  I keep saying to my patient (the quality found in humans, mostly) spouse that I'll undergo any treatment, but now I'm not so sure.  Maybe I do have a limit to how much misery I can handle.  It's different from getting medical attention because you have to.  Signing on for the unknown is scary!  I'm not sure if I can do it, I'll let you know if I do.

Questions for the Neurosurgeon???

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Tomorrow morning I'm going to Roseville for a follow up, feel good, visit with my neurosurgeon, he's really thorough and kicked that brain tumor's ASS!  The good Dr. is also young, well-connected and I can't believe he has a lot of patients like me.  Patients who have no sign of the evil cancerous, tumor, but can't walk, speak, see or use 90% of previous manual dexterity.  So I'm thinking at the very least he can tell me what worked/didn't for his other patients.  I don't mind the pain, but there is no escaping from it, or the vertigo and dizziness.

I guess that would be the $64,000 question:  How did your Astrocytoma patients learn to walk and talk again?  Were any patients without balance?  Without coordination?  (OK, I can count, that's three questions)  
Without some concrete solution I'm sentenced to Limbo Land for an indefinite stay.

He's a solution-oriented sort of guy so I hope when he sees how completely messed up I am he'll have some real ideas.  Or unreal ideas, at this point, who cares?  An idea is a lot more than what I have, which is no idea, not a clue!

Having a bad day? Tell me all about it!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Did you ever have a day when it just doesn't seem like you have accomplished anything?  I'm having a day like that today, I don't really know why, maybe I've set the bar higher and I have a certain expectation for what each day should produce.  Maybe I'm keenly aware of the passage of time and I'm dissatisfied because the healing process is taking so long.  Maybe I feel fat today, although I know mentally I'm not fat, I feel fat.  Maybe I'm just in a bad mood.  I think it's the passage of time thing!  I'm lonely and bored inside my head all alone.  I really hope there is an end to this or some medical solution that I haven't heard of
.
On that, I will workout harder and walk a little further and snap out of this (hopefully) PDQ.

Scared Stiff...True Horror? Or Anesthesia-Induced Nightmare?

I can vividly remember the nightmares that immediately followed my brain surgery in the ICU.  I was convinced that I had another head (result from a drain, attached to my head) and I had frighteningly real "visions", for days after the surgery.  I have done a little research and found out that it's fairly common to have disturbing dreams following brain surgery.  This dream went on forever and I was terrified of the ICU, all the staff of the ICU.  I was so scared, at some point I pulled out my breathing tube, repeatedly, which I hear is pretty hard to do.  I had this idea that the Graveyard Shift of the ICU practiced evil on ICU patients when all the Day Shift and Swing Shift (4-12) left.  I included the blood techs in the Demonic subgroup  because it seemed to me that the blood guys came every four hours, and not painlessly nor quickly drew  blood (found out later, that it was every 4).  I saw blood-curdling sights on more than one trip to the MRI tube as well.  I was so afraid on one occasion, I forgot to be claustrophobic.

I begged the doctors to let me go to Acute Rehab, and they did.  The nurses in Acute Rehab were all business but at least I wasn't afraid for my life.  I needed a lot of sleep after I had the tumor removed.  I didn't understand at first why so much time was left blank between therapists.  I soon learned your brain craves sleep after a trauma.  You sleep like a baby or maybe a cat.  Anyway, you sleep a lot, that's the point.  Getting as much sack time as possible becomes an overriding concern.  When I dreamed (?) again, it was about overhearing private conversations in a break room where unfortunately I could hear everything being said.  I came to find out later,(I was shown by a nurse) that my room did have some connection to where the therapists hung out and I could hear everything that was said.  One therapist couldn't stand me and it took a little getting used to but I started using what I heard to modify my behavior to better be an ideal patient. For instance, I was a picky eater so I ordered exactly what I could eat, so I'd receive 100% credit for eating my meal even though my "meal" was pretty minimal. (Yeah, yeah, I realize it's really, really, petty but I was tryin' to survive man!)  It didn't matter where the information came from I used it.  Soon, I was in everybody's good graces and it was time for me to go.

Don't let anyone tell you differently, either, the nurses run the show.  Doctors and visitors come and go, but the Nursing Staff is running things in your hospital,  24/7.  Nurses dictate when you eat when you use the restroom, IF you use it, when you get your medicine, and almost every aspect of your hospital world.  Whether you are happy or sad depends entirely on your nurse du jour.  Then I noticed the chill between the nurses and the therapists.  Brrrrrrr!  

I never did decide if the scariest night of my life was a dream or a huge conspiracy.  I tend to think it was a really, really, bad dream with some real results:  My hair is coming back like crazy but with a white stripe, like Pepe Le Pew/Stephen King.  I'm very different (better, I hope) than I was before the surgery.  Does it really matter where the change came from?

Losing My Voice? No Great Loss!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

One of the side effects of a brain tumor is dysarthria, or the inability to speak.  I have a clear recollection of everything else that instantly changed after the surgery but losing my voice was a gradual process.  You know what?  Being forced to shut up (and listen, to others), has been a revelation for me.  I have always talked far too much, but now that I rarely speak,  I'm amazed at how little really needs saying!  Really, you don't have to say much to get along.  Not speaking is inconvenient, to be sure, but not the end of  the world you might imagine it to be.  To not speak actually does make me a much better listener particularly to the people who I tended to cut off the most often - my son and my spouse,  I cut off my son because I know better and my husband because I thought he was too slow getting to the point.  I was wrong on both counts, and, delighted in finding out my son had all kinds of things to say, given the chance and so did my husband!

A lot of my new listening skill set, as I think of it, comes from a plethora of unnecessary (useless) factoids that are lodged in my cranium that do me no good now.  I also see every challenge as an opportunity to gain some better understanding of people that I care about, the people that are by my side, on my side, on this terrible journey.   (Did I mention my glass  is half-full?  Of what, I have not yet decided!)

Thought for the Day:  Maybe I watch too much t.v. (I do, there's no maybe about it!) but since I've discovered ID, Investigation Discovery, and decided it was too slow for even myself, I have noticed more and more ads for legal help.  The one that is scariest is the law firm that claims you have compensation waiting if you've had something called a mesh sling fail you. Side effects of this failure include: Intestinal fallout, kidney failure, painful intercourse and even death!  My thinking is that if your intestines are falling out and your kidneys are failing maybe "painful intercourse" isn't your first priority.  Or death.  If you happen to be life-challenged, (or dead, as it were) maybe you're not thinking about sex at all.  Just sayin'...

Falling... In Love? With? No, Just Falling!

OK, now I admit I fall.  A lot.  I have no balance or coordination so I fell over pretty frequently when I was healing (and highly medicated) and now that I'm feeling better I fall even more.  These new falls are fast, unexpected and rarely do I land on my head anymore.  The falling is a part of the healing process, at least that's what I tell myself when I fall or see the rainbow of bruises.  I learned how to fall without hitting my head.  The deep welt on my back hurts like hell, but the same fall on my head would have resulted in a pointless trip to the ER.

It's also the main motivator for whipping my body back into shape.  I keep imagining myself as being required to be in top physical condition, so I can be better prepared for the next fall.  It really seems  like I'm   under attack!   So I have to be ready and always vigilant!

OK, so falling blows pretty hard.  We, humans are very breakable.  When I didn't know how fast I could fall    I fell frequently and broke both arms and some other bones too.  I have learned that I can and will break, how to minimize the damage of the falls that happen now and later.  Don't even get me started on spilling...

Lose the "Battle to Brain Cancer"? Me? Never!

Hello fellow travelers!

I've never owned a firearm.  I do think they are pretty exciting!  Probably not very exciting to lots of soldiers around the world who might have dark stories regarding their firearms.  Everyone seems to be battling something. Injustice, communism, socialism, pest infestation, celllulite, all must be battled.  If you read, anything, you have read this line many times; "After battling whatever-type..Cancer, Jo Blow lost his brave fight," or this one, "After a long battle with  ______ cancer, Mrs. Cleaver lost her fight..."  I always wondered who exactly these people were fighting?  What were they fighting with?  What did the combatants wear?  How do you know when it's over?  When someone is dead?

I read in some book a character thinking something along the lines of, "I watched my Uncle die after a long period of time in the hospital.  I never saw him 'in battle' like the newspaper said,  he just got smaller and smaller in his hospital bed."  I think I figured out the battle/cancer question or, at least part of it.  It's not when     you (or, more to the point, ME!) end up in the hospital, if you're in the hospital, it's because you're done.  Done battling, done trying to get your life back, you have given up, all battles are probably long finished.  The "Battle" is in the gym and the rehab center.  The "Battle" for me is sweating as I slowly walk (with a walker, no less) a few hundred yards.  I look forward to these Bataan Death Marches.  I go to the gym every day, lift weights and ride the stationary bicycle until I am forcibly stopped.  Make no mistake, this is where the rubber meets the road.  It is the most difficult task I've ever attempted and it's life or death, I know that much.  There is a time factor to all this retraining too.  Feeling like I'm under seige 24/7 is a lonely and exhausting place to be.  I can' t keep it up forever, neither can my pre-teen son, or my spouse.  I wasn't doing that great before the stupid tumor, but I had no clue how bad things would get after the huge Astrocytoma was removed!

I continue to work, walk and "battle" as though my life depends on it!  (because it probably does)

I Drink, Therefore I am? I Drank, Therefore I was!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I used to be able to seriously consume wine the Californian drink of choice.  I drank the cocktails in my youth that all Arizonans of a special age (19) and gender (F) grew up with; wine coolers to Strawberry Daiqiries to White Russians to Black Russians to well, Russians (just kidding, but doesn't it sound good?), to scotch and water to Vodka/Diet Coke(supposed to be the diet alternative).  Sometime later I became interested in fine wines and how they were paired with food.  Later, I became slightly less interested in boutique beer, or micro-brews.

Now I don't drink anything.  Ever.  I miss the kahlua because I have voracious sweet tooth and miss the sugar and coffee flavor.  My best friend brought me a fabulous Cabernet that took me a long time to consume a little at a time and it gave me no problems and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  It takes so much mind power and mental and physical stamina just to accomplish little things I can't imagine cocktails clouding my poor, damaged, brain.  My liver, for those keeping score at home, is just dandy!

So  maybe just maybe, I'll be able to taste wine (and spit, a lot) again.  My palate is still pretty sharp, my opinions are at least as sharp, I'm pickier than ever  Being critical about things like wine, food, books even real estate is like breathing (at least I can still do that) and are some of my best qualities.  Maybe I can be critical than ever, stone, cold. sober.  Boring?  Perhaps.  Essential?  Definitely.  Something else to relearn, but far down on the list.  Like some distance behind relearning cleaning the cat's litter box, WAY, WAY, down on the list...

Crap My Mom Sends Me Unintentionally-HYSTERICAL!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I love to read, always did, probably always will.  My mom knows this and tries to send me all sorts of Arizona-based newspaper articles, comics and other op/ed pieces that catch her fancy.  Sometimes she'll put little notes on the "clippin's" (that's how I refer to them) like, " do you like this?" and "What about this?"  Usually she sends pictures of AZ or funny political cartoons, I guess she was running low on "clippin's", or feeling especially  puckish when she sent me what turned out to be a Sex-Offender-Moving-Into-Your-Neighborhood flyer.

Once we established this scary-looking dude was NOT moving into my parents' neck of the woods, the questions started flying fast and furious.  Where DID they get such an icky thing?  (my niece)  What IS Third Degree Rape?  (Where there is threat of substantial, unlawful harm to the property rights of the victim.  As in, do it with me or I'll egg your car!  A Class 'C' Felony, by the way) and finally, Why would she send it to me? (to get out of the State?  Her State?)  Ship it to California!  The best part for me was what my mother wrote on the top right hand, corner:  "How about this?" I mean you gotta love that!

What I'm sure happened in actuality, is my mom wrote me a nice letter and knowing her mail carrier was coming sooner than later, grabbed the icky-but-interesting document, wrote a quick question on it then popped it in the mail.  Whatever predicated the flyers arrival isn't important ( and no, he wasn't an old boyfriend of mine or anyone I know.  I asked.)it cracked me up, got my spouse looking up legal terminology on his phone and my son to promptly remove the garbage.

Thought for the Day:  Tropical Storm (Category 1 tops) Isaac?  Not very Scary
                                  Hurricane Katrina (Cat 5)?  Now that's some scary shit!

Proud? Proud of WHAT???

My mother wrote me the other day, she always says she's proud of me, all I'm going through, all I've been through, she's great isn't that what all the great moms say?  She often says things like "I couldn't go through that!" and "You have so much determination!", well if it happens to anyone, better to happen to someone who refuses to die, I really don't feel as though  I've done anything special, certainly nothing to be proud of.  I had some brain surgery followed closely by chemicals and radiation.  I work out every day and I've survived.  Does that make me special, a fighter?  Or a human cockroach?  If there isn't full recovery as a result of lots of clean living and lots and lots of physical labor I don't have a clue what I'll do.  I think I'll always work out.  I've always been a picky eater, always feeling like food is an option, not necessarily a requirement.  No one asked me if I was up to the Challenge of a Brain Tumor, if I was asked, I would have screamed,"Hell, no!"  It's being assaulted every day.  Life as I knew it completely changed when I woke up from surgery and kept changing.