My best guacamole

In case you needed the recipe, here's the one I made at Rita's.

Pat's Guacamole

2 ripe avocados
1/4 c. white onion, chopped fine
1/4 c. your favorite salsa (I have to say there's nothing wrong with Pace's)
1 T. lemon or lime juice
1/3 c. finely chopped tomato
1/2 c. fresh cilantro, chopped
Salt

All measurements are approximate, but these quantities will get you started.

Cut the avocados in half longways. Twist the halves apart; one side will have the seed in it. Whack your heavy knife blade into the seed and twist. It will come out. Scoop out the insides with a spoon.

Put the avocado into a serving bowl with the onion, salsa and lime juice. Mash with a fork until it's as smooth as you want it, but don't puree, that's gross. Stir in the tomato and cilantro. Taste for salt and add some. You'll need it.

Serve.

Summer in Minnesota

It's about 65 degrees this morning, sunny and breezy. Eat your hearts out, Texans. THIS is summer. We've had a great time at the Norlanders in Rochester. Casey and his cousin Shiloh bang around like junior high school boys on the wrestling team. Shiloh is half again as big as Casey; we thought Casey was a big dog until we saw Shiloh!

Yesterday we drove over to a river town, Stillwater, on the St. Croix, then met John and Niki for dinner in MSP. They both look marvelous and John has made incredible strides since the catastrophic illness that almost claimed him a year ago. He's a strong guy with an impressive support group, including an adorable wife who is obviously his rock.

Pics to come on kodak gallery asap.

We ARE in Kansas!

Whoo! We are having fun!! This cathedral is across the street from Ken and Pam's house. We are in Pfeifer, Kansas.

Speaking of Comedy Sources, I'm Back at MD Anderson

HI! I'm in Stir this morning. I've had blood pulled, a bone density exam, and am now waiting for Dr. Fighter Pilot. I have commandeered a big table for four, two outlets, and three chairs while I wait.

I had breakfast downstairs and listened to some old folks in the cafeteria talk about the state of education and young people and television and the country and the middle class. Interestingly, they say EXACTLY the same things that my grandfather complained about in 1966. Kids don't speak the King's English, nor are they even taught any history these days; television is crude; and us regular people will not survive.

I listened with great joy as they talked about how the country simply cannot survive unless people can learn to speak properly and quit using nouns as verbs. Then one of them brought up Barak Obama and made some garbled statement about he had mistakenly used "I" as a pronoun. [Which I think is, um, ok.]

You will all be pleased that I did not approach them--as I first thought I might--and lead them down a garden path of agreeing that our leaders' ability to use language effectively is key for the survival of the nation. They already seemed to be very close to that anyway. Then, I could have sprung on them: "So who did you vote for in 2000 and 2004?"

Now that I'm settled in here in the Breast Center (what an exciting name!), I must recount a phone conversation I just overheard. I wasn't eavesdropping this time; the woman is standing right beside me and talking toward me. I heard one side of it only, but at this phrase I tuned in:

Did you catch any more mice?

Really? Another one?

Yes, that's five this week. Well, put some more peanut butter on the trap and set it back out.

[I was thinking, Jeebus, Lady, where do you live? I do NOT want to come to your house!]

Later in the conversation . . .

Would you put some food and milk in the barn?

Yes, I think that cat has had another litter of kittens.

No, I don't know what we're going to do with her.

[I know! I know! Ask me! Quit feeding the damn cat!]

I do feel better that she lives in the country and has therefore caught five mice this week, but here's another idea. Perhaps if she put the cat to work on the mouse problem, the little hoor would have less time to get into trouble. Just a thought. [Nod to Mom and Aunt Rosalyn for the "hoor" usage; one of my faves.]

Hand Me That Piano! George Carlin 1937 - 2008

I was just reading the article about George Carlin in the New York Times. He died yesterday of heart failure. He had gotten really cranky over the years and had rather lost his sense of humor, in my opinion, but gosh, was anyone ever funnier?

The article said he battled an addiction to red wine and vicodin. I have friends who would consider that more of an hors d'oeuvre than an addiction.

Rest in peace, George Carlin. Your comedy informed my own.

An Open Letter to the Kid Who Shouted at Me Last Night on W. Gray

You know who you are: the passenger in a small car that whizzed by me as Casey and I took our evening stroll in front of the Post Office. You yelled, "Which dog is walking which dog?" Remember? Ah, yes. I thought you would.

First of all, congratulations on trying to be entertaining. More than anyone, I believe in adding more laughter and merriment to the world. And while your contribution was little more than a slightly bungled prank phone call on wheels, I applaud your attempt. Keep practicing. You may well advance to "Is your refrigerator running?" someday.

Second, accept my sympathies for the car you are forced to ride in. What was that? A '93 Hornet? I can only imagine what it's like to ride around in an un-airconditioned car on a sultry Houston summer night, sweating through your Ross-Dress-for-Less jeans onto the vinyl seats while the car's leaking exhaust system sends just enough carbon monoxide into the passenger compartment to make you slightly nauseated. Must be torture, and I can empathize.

Honestly, though, thank you for recognizing that my form was female! Dressed in my baggiest shorts and a shirt that doubles for pajamas at times, I remain impressed by your powers of observation. Especially because I'm kind of dumpy and even probably older than your grandmother! I say that, of course, because I would guess that both your mother and grandmother gave birth as teenagers. Alone. On the floor of a Motel 6.

And I bet I can also safely assume that Grandmama--even at her age--sports a much slimmer profile than do I, given that she and your mother spend most of their time standing in doorways, smoking crack and meeting new gentlemen friends. But, really, thank you for noticing. I am proud of my gender.

Finally, asshat, you scared my dog. If you do it again, may the hepatitis you contracted in utero flare up and dash any career hopes you may have had as a professional beer taster. Jerk. And go &%*$ yourself.

Another Excellent Joke

Q: Why don't Junior League ladies attend orgies?

A: Too many thank-you notes.


Claire, can I tell where we got this one?

It was a big weekend. Huge. Really.

This was the highlight: putting a t-shirt on the dog. He wasn't amused, but we thought it was hilarous.

Happy Birthday, Carole!

Today is my sister Carole’s birthday. She is my eldest sister, born 10½ years before me, so I’ll let you do the math. Let’s just say it’s a milestone birthday for her.

Of all of my many blessings, having a sister like Carole is right up there at the top. She inspired my love of music, of Daphne du Maurier novels, and of old movies (Remember Jennifer Jones in "Duel in the Sun"?), along with my respect for quilts and the domestic arts. She's a fantastic cook, jelly-maker, gardener, musician, singer, choir director, needleworker, artist, mother and grandmother. A cautious but dogged Farkle player, she can also whip me soundly at Scrabble every now and then.

If you don't have a big sister like Carole, you should get one. She is one in a million, and I love her very much. You can e-mail her at clcorder@wildblue.net and tell her Happy Birthday!

Got any duck jokes?

A duck walks into a 7-11. He says to the guy at the counter, "Got any grapes?"

The clerk says, "No, we're a convenience store with snacks and beer and stuff like that. We don't carry any produce."

The next day, the duck comes back. Waddles up to the counter and says, "Got any grapes?"

The clerk says, "I told you yesterday. We're a 7-11. We don't have any vegetables or fruits."

The next day, the duck comes back yet again. He approaches the counter. "Got any grapes?"

The clerk is really mad now. "I TOLD YOU. WE DO NOT HAVE PRODUCE. WE DO NOT HAVE GRAPES. And if you come back in here again asking for grapes, I'm going to nail your bill to this counter! GOT IT?"

The next day, the duck returns. He says to the clerk, "Got any nails?"

The clerk says, "No, we don't carry nails."

Says the duck, "Got any grapes?"

A GREAT UPDATE FROM A FRIEND OF MINE!

Please read and enjoy this update from a strong and focused colleague of mine. She undergoes additional surgery next week; she will do great!------------------


I cannot believe that I last wrote you in November! Wow, time has flown and so much has changed, so here goes. …..


I have completed 6 months of somewhat arduous chemotherapy for HER2 biological breast cancer. I have undergone 16 treatments and am so glad it’s FINALLLY OVER (More technical details are outlined below). Some things I have learned:

The term “chemo brain” is true. Without all of your patience, I would be nowhere.

You all are always so supportive during my memory losses and those times when inappropriate words pop out of my mouth.

My countless forgetful retelling of stories, gossip and needless facts.

You have played ‘Guess the Topic’, ‘Guess the End of this Sentence’, sat there ignoring my mishaps or laughing it off with me.

“Mini-T”. My wig, Mini-T, and I get along famously, but have had a few learnings. Might I share some helpful hints:

1. They provide wig tape for a reason. If you choose not use it, then that’s your fault. I chose not to use it, so it is my fault?

2. Rolling down car windows, can make your wig feel the need to take a hike

3. Bending forward can cause unnecessary forward back-wig movement

4. Lying down at the Dr office can cause total wig movement upwards

5. Choose wisely when stepping into windy/gusty weather. Be prepared with how to avoid wind wig removal.

6. If you choose to affront the windy weather, have a plan for how you will inconspicuously hold your wig in place. My first time out, I put an index finger on the top of my head and must have looked like Tinkerbell. I inadvertently met up with my company’s CEO, Steve, whose confusion at my look then led to laughter. I really appreciated his great sense of humor!!!

7. If your wig is sitting too far back on your head, you can look like a conehead from Saturday Night Live…Not a good look, but a lot of fun to ‘scare’ people with.

8. DO NOT, under any circumstances, send pictures of your nicely styled pre-chemo hair without double checking the picture background. I uploaded those pics and sent them to Cheryl, my wigmaker in NY. Only after we were discussing the pics, did I notice my big naked butt in the mirror reflection in one of them. OH MY GOSH!!! What was I thinking!!

We have a new deck and garden!

With native, easy-to-care-for plants and a "water feature!" This is Lynn's pretty sago palm anchoring the scene, and we installed a water-spouting urn from Joshua's up in the Heights. Casey likes it, as you can see. And we like having the messy covered patio gone. In the shot below, you can see that the back fence is now wrought-iron, and that last crackhouse in the hood that was on that lot has been torn down. Click on the photos for detail. Casey looks particularly stunning in the top pic.

Pat Gets Even!

I had my "minor medical procedure" yesterday to even up my, uh, stuff that needed evened up. Soon I will get the finishing touches, done with tattoo ink (I am not kidding) that will improve things cosmetically. I am going to have to be talked out of a monkey tattoo. I really, really want one.

Anyhow, the surgery was brief and there were no problems. Chuck was with me; we came home and he made me a DELICIOUS BLT with yellow tomatoes. MMM. I watched Dancing with the Stars, took a pain pill, and went to bed. Up at 7 am; made a 9 am meeting at Greenspoint, and am now back in my office.

Our department moves to the new headquarters at Greenspoint this weekend. This will be much easier commute for me, and I have a really nice office to decorate with my numerous monkey items.

The Drunk and the Five Dollar Bill

People of my generation were reared by parents who survived the Depression. So we’ve all heard the stories about how poor everyone was and how difficult their lives were. I was all grown up before I realized that my mom’s stories were not a reflection of how everyone had lived. She endured some special circumstances, which of course made her the woman she was, but it took me awhile to understand that her hardships were very different.

For one thing, her mother left. On Christmas Day. Lee left four children, ages five through thirteen, with their alcoholic father and took off with another man. So my mother and her siblings were children of divorce, when divorce was a real stigma. And Grandpa Louis Skaggs was indeed a drunk, a working drunk, but a drunk nonetheless.

All of us kids knew this from an early age; it was a fact of our lives and of his. He had come to live with us after a stroke that left him partially incapacitated and unable to live on his own. Mom had told him, in a stern conversation, that he could come to live with her family – her husband and five small children – but he couldn’t drink in front of them. He said, “I’ll die if I don’t drink.” She replied, “You’ll die sober.”

He lived another nine years. Didn’t have another drink. But he spent his time teaching small children to play cards and cribbage and perform other useful tasks, like tricks with a penny, how to fetch his pipe, and how to light matches. It seemed to me he was very patient with us, but I wonder now if he was just trying to get through each day. We all have a lot of stories about him, but one of my favorites is the story mom told about an incident when she was a teenager.

Louis had come home one evening, drunk, which wasn’t unusual, but he had a friend with him this time, a drinking buddy. The friend was also drunk and the two of them burst into the house, laughing and cutting up. Mom, the eldest, was 14 or 15, and she was protective – she had to be – of her younger siblings. She said it frightened her to have that other drunk in the house. She didn’t know him well and was worried about what could happen. So, she did what she always did when she was afraid – she got very mad.

The two drunks pulled chairs up to the kitchen table. Louis said, “Make us some sandwiches, Ruthie!”

She replied, hostile, “I’ll make you a sandwich, but I’m not making that goddam drunk a sandwich.”

Her father reprimanded her for swearing and told her to do as she was told. At the same time, Louis’s companion said, “I’ll pay you five dollars to make me a sandwich!” And he took a five dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it onto the kitchen table.

At this point in the story, Mom always told us, “Five dollars was a lot of money in those days. It’s like fifty dollars now. But I was mad and scared and worried.”

So she said to the drunk, “I don’t want your goddam five dollars,” too angry to care if her father got mad at her for swearing again. Her younger sister and two younger brothers stood in the kitchen door, impressed by her bravery and waiting for some kind of fight, she told us.

Louis asked her if she wanted a whipping, and although she knew he wouldn’t follow through, she reluctantly turned around and made two bologna sandwiches. She handed one sandwich to her father and put his friend’s sandwich on top of the five dollar bill that still lay on the table.

She watched quietly as the drunk picked up the sandwich, along with the bill, and ate them both in four or five bites. Mae and Bud and Arthur still watched from the kitchen door, their eyes wide, too astonished to laugh.

As soon as the drunk finished the sandwich, he noticed that his money was gone. “Where’s my five dollars?” he shouted.

Her dad chimed in. “Ruthie, where’s his money?”

“He ate it,” she replied calmly.

Louis complained, “Well why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Mom answered, “It wasn’t my five dollars. It was his. I figured if he wanted to eat it, he could.”

We always loved hearing this story and her very graphic description of how the drunk ate the money along with the sandwich, “Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! He tore the bill with his teeth, swallowed it right down, and never noticed it!” We would howl with laughter.

Louis said, “I oughta whip you, Ruthie,” and Mom said, “Go ahead.”

He looked at her, and at the other children, who were trying not to laugh out loud. He gathered up his still complaining friend and said, “We’re leaving.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t bring any more drunks back here.”

And he didn’t.

This story and others – about a drunken father, about a mother flirting with a neighbor man while the milk cow ate her flower garden, about petty-criminal friends, about being looked down on by neighbors and teachers – were always presented to us as funny stories, or at least stories that had positive endings. It was probably my mom’s way of getting past and putting away the sadness of what must have been a heartbreaking childhood. I continue to admire her strength, long after she’s gone.

Shameless Commerce Division

For my friends and family who hang out at junk shops, garage sales, First Monday, and other places of ill-repute, I am looking for these dishes. They were manufactured under two names: Royal Bayreuth, Bayreuth Birds; and Royal Tettau, Woodsong. There are a number of different wild birds on the plates, but the band is bright yellow or orange. I'll take any of them. If you find any dinner plates or smaller, buy them for me and I will reimburse. And yes, I'm watching on e-Bay and I've registered at China Replacements. Duh.

Stories that make me laugh out loud.

This is one I can just think about and fall out of my chair.

One time my sister-in-law Cheryl announced that she would like to get a massage some time. "But," said Cheryl, her beautiful eyes flashing, "I've never had a massage. Does it hurt? I don't want someone to beat me up."

I explained to her that you can always tell the massage therapist to go easy on you. "You can just say you're a 'massage-weenie,' that it's your first time and that he or she should use light pressure until you say otherwise."

"Oh," she said, "that makes sense. I never thought of that."

Just then my brother walked in the door and Cheryl said, "Hey, Tommy, guess what? Did you know that if you go to a massage therapist, you can ask for a weenie massage?"

"Yes," said my brother, without missing a beat, "but it costs extra."

More Stuffing, Please!

Going back in for minor surgery on the 12th -- need to have my, um, operation evened out. In honor of everyone's new focus on environmental, green choices, I have opted not to have silicone but will request cornbread instead. It may turn out a little lumpy, but I'll smell like Thanksgiving!

And don't worry. It's very minor surgery. I should be able to reach the top shelves of the Spec's wine section (where the cheap bottles are) within 24 hours.

On Gambling

I told some people I was headed to Shreveport in a few weeks to visit my friend Amy Dodson Mata. One person said, "Ooooh, they have gambling boats there!" Always a draw for most folks.

I have to say, though, that I'm not a big gambler. You can tell if you know me -- I got married for the first time at age 31. I’d had opportunities to take the plunge earlier in my dating career but wasn't brave enough. (Stories on request.)

Not that marrying CRM wasn't a perceived risk, with his "interesting" marital history, but I was pretty sure that the previous ones had worn him out. It was like the faster cheetahs had chased the gazelle for miles and miles across the savannah, nipped at him and caused some light bleeding, and I just laid low in the brush until he ran out of steam, then nabbed him. He's too tired and wounded now to get up and run again. He ain't going anywhere.

But I digress.

Gambling. Once Amy (my sister) and I went to New Orleans for Mother's Day. We went to the gambling boat and she showed me how to play the slot machines. We drank numerous "free" bloody marys, which are a vegetable, by the way. I ended up losing $31 during a long afternoon of putting quarters in machines, getting some out and putting them back in. If you totaled the cost of the drinks, it was probably a wash. But I grieved over that $31 as though it were a lost child.

Understand I walked out of the casino and went directly to Jackson Square, where I paid $45, plus a tip, to a FORTUNE TELLER. She told me all kinds of things that made sense at the time (remember I’d had x number of bloody marys) and that I don’t remember any more, but hey, value perceived.

When I put quarters in a machine, though, I want something to come out of the bottom of it. Every time. A Sprite. A Butterfinger. Not Nothing.

Now, PAULA can gamble. Heavens. I’ve seen her play the dollar slots in Vegas all evening long, coming back up to the hospitality room now and then with cash stuffed into her bra. She’d down a few more glasses of merlot, and head back down. Would say, “Don’t tell Averyt I won money,” over her shoulder. That’s why Chuck calls her Fish.

Hilarious Website

Just found something screamingly funny. Torsopants.com

Go check it out and buy a t-shirt. I think I'll be doing my Christmas shopping there, and my nephew Steve Murphy will receive the one that says, "My Native American name is Steve." He lives in New Mexico. Hope he doesn't get beat up.

I'm looking for new endings to this phrase . . .

That which does not kill you . . .

the original ending is "makes you stronger," but I'm looking for others. So far I've thought of

"really pisses you off."
and
"will still cost you a lot of money."

Others? Need some creativity here . . .

My Hair is Amazing!

I have curly dark brown,almost black, hair, shot with grey. It is now growing straight up into a post-modern pompadour, and I look kind of like Frankie Avalon in the original Beach Party movie. I have an appointment with the hair salon on Tuesday evening, and I'm not sure that she'll cut it or "shape" it, as one would topiary. It is a scream.

And it's springtime in Texas, a beautiful Saturday morning. Chuck and Peg and I went to dinner in the 'hood last night. Sat outside at Tila's and enjoyed the noise of Shepherd Drive. Then the three of us went dog-walking -- make that four, counting the dog. This morning is just brilliant, very cool and breezy. High only in the 70s today and in the 40s tonight. We consider that free air conditioning and are glad to have a few more nights of it before serious summer sets in.

We're doing ok. My job is extremely challenging but I'm up to it, I think. My priority HAS to be getting people hired for my internal communications position, and I'm too mired down in the details to write the darn job description, let alone the communications plans. I've asked MJ Mudd to help and spent yesterday with her, working on plans and ideas. She's great.

More soon. I promise.

What Really Happened

I note that I talked about health insurance last summer, going COBRA and etc. I need to update the masses on what really happened. The company I worked for filed for bankruptcy six weeks after I'd finished chemo. I was still on the herceptin drug every three weeks, each infusion costing about $14K. No. Really. Thousand. I also had reconstructive surgery scheduled for three weeks out. Big chunk of change there, too.

I was "lucky" in that I landed on the list of people who would be retainedfor a while, so I wasn't among the vast majority of Aegis employees who were laid off just before bankruptcy filing. They were laid off with no severance, no payment for accrued vacation, and no warning. Just g'bye.

But as the bankruptcy was filed, the company also cancelled its master health care policy. If you don't know what this means, you need to know. It means that current and laid off employees could not "elect" COBRA benefits; you could not pay for your health insurance at a group rate, because there was no longer a group policy to COBRA from. Get it? Nada.

If you are relatively healthy with no pre-existing conditions, like, say breast cancer, you can buy a decent policy. If you have a job and some money. A lot of people didn't have a job. I had a job, but I was uninsurable because I was IN CANCER TREATMENT. Oh, and by the way, under current laws, I will never be able to buy my own policy again at reasonable rates.

I went into something called the Texas Risk Pool, administered these days by Blue Cross, and paid just under $1,000 per month for a policy that had some coverage, not nearly what I'd had previously had. Moreover, we started over with deductibles, so there was considerable cash outlay there.

However, I had a job, was getting a paycheck. And that was good. And Chuck had turned 65 in mid-July and was therefore sliding over into Medicare, thank goodness. Many, many of my colleagues with children and families were in a HUGE mess. It was simply awful.

Here's something else you need to know. One of my colleagues who got laid off was pretty certain he would be employed within a month or two. He decided that the smart thing might be to NOT buy another policy but to wait for the new job and get on that employer's policy. HOWEVER -- pay attention here -- he has a chronic but not serious medical condition. Had he gone WITHOUT insurance for more than 63 days, a new employer's insurance carrier, depending on its policies, could exclude his coverage for that condition for up to a year. Just for the hell of it. I am not kidding.

A side irony is that just before the bankruptcy of my company, I became very concerned about my own health coverage. Someone I knew had refilled one of my painkiller prescriptions in another city. Never mind how this happened, it happened. Because of my chemo-brain condition, and because it just never dawned on me that I was not the victim of identity theft, I did not make the connection immediately. I called the pharmacy and my doctor before I realized that the culprit was someone I knew. The HR guy at work was adamant: the insurance carrier had to be notified, my company's employment attorney called me in, and all hell broke loose. While I was ultimately assured that I wouldn't lose my coverage, the carrier and my employer were very interested in prosecuting the culprit. It would have been a federal charge, and there would have been nothing I could do about it.

The company's bankrupty and layoffs happened while I was stalling about giving the culprit's name. What a mess.

So, that said -- for Jeebus sake. Vote Democrat.

Port Gone!

The port was finally removed on Wednesday, Feb 6. I had taken Advil the day before the original surgery was scheduled the previous week, and they kicked me out of the lineup. So I had to wait. I had it done under a local anesthetic, and I want to advise everyone who ever has to undergo this -- DON'T DO IT THAT WAY.

It's not that it hurt all that much, but it totally creeped me out. I should have been asleep. When she plastered the metal plate onto my thigh and explained that they were "grounding me" so that the cauterizing deal wouldn't electrocute me, I thought, "uh oh." By then it was too late.

I clenched my teeth through it, listened to all of the horrid noises and tugging and snipping and sh*t, and then hopped up off the table and went to work. After that, I started feeling like I sucked in my job and that I wasn't going to be able to manage it, etc. That went on for a couple of days before I realized there might be a connection between having my body invaded and feeling depressed and weird.

So, I took Friday off, sort of. And I was better by Monday.

As of end of January, I am one year cancer-free. Four to go. I stay on arimidex, an oral drug, for five years total. Totally do-able.

Now I have to knock this job out of the park. Back to work!!

Ok. This is it!

My final herceptin infusion is scheduled for next Thursday. That's the drug that lowers the possibility of my particular kind of cancer recurring. It isn't a chemo drug and has no side effects except annoying the crap out of me; the process takes all day because they pull blood and check my heart and someone forgets to put in the order and the infusion therapy suites are backed up and my oncologist is late from lunch.

The next afternoon, they will remove the internal port that has been under my skin since last February. That has been a nifty little device to have during chemo, since it keeps them from screwing too much with veins.

I feel very, very fortunate to have made it through this whole mess relatively unscathed and to come out on the other side healthy and able to get into trouble.

Not Quite Ready for Living Rooms . . .

Indy musicians Chuck and Pat are instead doing "Garage Concerts." Hope your new year celebration was even 1/4 as much fun as ours!! I hope we are singing "Pancho and Lefty" here, since that's the one we know the words to.

Casey the Christmas Dog

Here's Casey in his reindeer antlers. He is not amused, but I am. Cracks me up. He's had a great time while Claire was here for Christmas. He got long, exhausting runs every day; slept in Claire's bed; had turkey leftovers; and received a visit from his best friend Henry, who promptly took his toys away. And . . . And . . . he almost got to eat a pecan bourbon ball! But he got caught.

Hope everyone had a great Christmas and is ready for a wonderful 2008. I predict no crises and smooth sailing; so let's be careful out there.

Where's Waldo?

I'm right here. My sister said, "Hey, there's mom in the middle of a bunch of guys!" This is our group in the Tulsa process and treating facility. We were celebrating a YEAR of accident free work, an impressive record. These Exterran people are great folks, and I am happy to be one of them.

What a Difference a Year Makes!

One year ago, just about this time, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer. What a year it's been! But I'm fine now. This morning I had my one-year mammogram and it came back nicely negative. It's also handy, I must say, to have to mammogram only ONE. Saves time.

Anyway, here I am! Not sure where this very dark CURLY hair came from, but I'm happy that it's Christmastime and things are good. Thanks to Kerry for finding these stunning earrings.

Casey has a new second cousin

The Norlanders got a new dog. His name is Shilo.

Churchill, a very noble and loving animal, has moved on to doggy heaven after a wonderful and happy life. This new guy looks very much like Casey, and we are pleased to welcome him to the family!

She's BACK! And She's New and Improved!

Upgraded chest, splendid attitude, AND a new gig! I am the new Director of Communications for Exterran, a global company providing compression services and products to the natural gas industry. We're headquartered in Houston and have 11,000 employees in 30 countries, nearly half of those employees outside the US. I am calling in all of my favors to find out everything I can about communicating internationally and interculturally. I'll take all ideas, stories, etc.

But most important, I am so happy to have a new career. The support of my friends and family has gotten me here.

Oh. The photo? Me (note new chest and cat face; cat face is not permanent but chest is) and Beth and Rocky at the Origin Design party. With a real live angel. Honest.

I PROMISE TO UPDATE THE DAMN BLOG WEEKLY.

More than a Dollar's Worth of Entertainment -- MUCH More!

I rode the Westheimer-82 bus home on Wednesday afternoon. My car was at the dealership-spa and the floor mats were still being shampooed, so I decided to leave it and go public transit. Truly, the one-hour ride eastbound on Westheimer from the Beltway into the Montrose was at once entertaining (damnedest looking people), edifying (small Central American-looking women speaking a language that was NOT Spanish), and fragrant (I kept thinking I was in the Paris subway!). I am reminded how diverse the Houston population is, how one's idea of personal space has to shift on public transit, and how fortunate I am to have a nice car to drive around in on most days.

Like Finding Yourself Suddenly Trapped in the Back of an Abandoned Moving Van. In the Sahara. At Noon.

In case you were wondering what chemically-induced hot flashes feel like, the description above is as close as I can get. I seem also to suffer from a heat-induced variation on Tourette's Syndrome, which causes me to swear uncontrollably, but with great feeling and creativity, for the duration of the event. I usually end with uttering the word, "Nasty!"

Forbidden Love

Maybe it's not so good that I've learned to post photos. But do click on it to get the full effect.

Another startling resemblance. Especially nude.

A special shout-out to Amy Mata for pointing out (GET IT? POINTing out?) that my hairdo makes me look like a kewpie doll. The body isn't quite right -- a couple of bandaids across a purplish chest would do it, though.

The girls and I are fine

Hi, Punks. No problems today. I must be made of naughahyde or something sturdy like that. I wish I had more drama to report, but I've had dental surgery with more pain and complications. This was just no big wup. My friend Amy from Shreveport is on her way to take care of me. We'll probably end up at High Fashion Fabrics to pick out upholstery material for the guest room.

I guess I'm back at work on Monday.

Anyone else see the resemblance?

I think Ann Taylor may be right!

There are THREE Grand Tetons!

So thank goodness I didn't ask for those*. Happily, I have TWO. They are situated in a standard position; they match, from what I can tell given than I'm kind of gauzed-up; and they are of reasonable dimensions. I will refrain from further description since this is a public blog.

Surgery started about 8:30 or so, and we were home at four, I think, although the trip home was fuzzy. I'm pretty sure I didn't drive. It's 7:30 pm now and anesthesia is wearing off nicely. I have pain meds to pop as needed, and I'm starting to get hungry. All is well. I'm home and accepting phone calls and e-mails and all that. Nurse McCabe is doing an excellent job of running up and down the stairs, taking and returning phone calls, providing updates, finding my phone, my blackberry, my glasses, my ice water.

Thank you to everyone for thoughts and prayers and worries. As we learned in January, all of those things have weight and mass, and they HELP.

More later. Oh, for those of you outside the area, a tropical storm is on the way to Houston. EXCITING!!


*Carole Corder was the Grand Teton expert. Her e-mail asked where the third one might be . . .

Give Me a C, a Bouncy C!

Reconstruction tomorrow! Seems like I'm early in the batting order so we'll drag in about 6 am or so. Surgery at 8:30 and I'll be home in the late afternoon if all goes well. Insurance stuff came through THANK GOD so we are calm. All is well. According to the surgeon, I will be sore for a few days but should be back in the office by Monday unless I'm too stoned on pain killers. We'll see.

For those of you who want details, we are replacing the tissue expander that went in after the mastectomy with another permanent implant. Then we are also "redecorating" the other one to match. The surgeon drew all over me this morning; I even have his initials on my chest. He insists that's hospital procedure, but I think he's just tagging me.

To amuse you, here is a photo of me with my new hair -- note the "fauxhawk" on top. That is NATURAL; I have done nothing to get this clever little hair-do. It is very dark brown, almost black, with grey (or, as I prefer to say, "silver") highlights. So much for blonde and curly.

Wish me luck! I'll post an update Wednesday evening for all.

A Story from My Brother, Tommy

I called Tommy on my way to work this morning. He said he was shaving and thinking he would call me once he got in the truck. Then his phone rang. We do that a lot.

He said he was out fixing someone's DSL line the other day, an older couple out in Helotes, and the man invited him in to cool off after he was done. He talked with both of them for a few minutes and learned that the man had retired from the Fort Sam Houston fire department, and the wife said she'd retired from USAA.

He said his mom had worked at USAA and the woman asked what her name was. Tom said, "Well she retired a long time ago, in the late 80s. Her last name was Wente."

The woman got an odd look on her face and said, "Ruth?" You're Ruth Wente's son? I LOVED Ruth!"

He stayed another half hour while she told him what a wonderful person Mom was and how great she was to work with. When he got ready to leave, she said, "I need to hug you," and he said he was kind of sweaty, and she said, "I don't care. I can't let Ruth Wente's son leave without hugging him."

Tom said it made his day to meet that woman and hear about Mom. Mine, too.

Situation Normal: All F.... Up

Is that where the SNAFU acronym comes from? Someone told me that once. The good news is that I'm now six weeks out of chemo, feeling GREAT, getting serious about the gym again, and even have a little hair growing out. (I do look like Grandpa Charlie coming out of the mines, though. My head just looks dirty at this point.)

The bad news is that it looks like things are going south at Aegis very quickly, so I am getting serious about job hunting. I need 1) lots of money; 2) a good insurance plan; 3) a pleasant work environment, close to my house; 4) generous bonus and vacation programs. I will TAKE any two, although #2 is not negotiable.

My expectation is that I'll have a small Aegis severance package, and I can elect COBRA coverage, which is expensive but well worth it in my case, until I land somewhere else. Luckily Chuck has turned 65 and so he can go Medicare, although we are still not sure how one does that. We'll take advice from anyone who understands it.

We have gone on a new austerity program since returning from our Florida trip, business related of course, where we saw alligators, petted a giraffe, went kayaking, ate and drank like royalty, etc. My favorite part was my spa visit, where I had a cocoa-sugar body scrub: First the lady scrubbed me, then put me in the shower. Then she buttered me. I was SOFT.

But the best news, as I say, is that I feel great, and I'm very grateful for that. Having dodged the cancer bullet (well, only grazed), I have an appreciation for what's important, so I'm less panicked about the job thing than I might otherwise be. Funny how that happens.

Going forward, I have a herceptin treatment every four weeks through February. The reconstructive surgery is scheduled for September 12th. (Hooters party to be announced.) Most important, my sure-fire weight loss program works. It has three simple elements: 1) get in the gym six days per week; 2) stop eating like each meal is my last; 3) stay out of the wine. I can drop a half pound a day if I just do those three things. Wonder why they're so hard?

I've received several complaints about lack of regular posting, and I apologize to my audience. I will get back on it. I have some new funny stories which I'll post over the weekend.

Love to all.

Big Shout-Out to Chuck! Happy Birthday!!

This gorgeous set of photos was taken at Mitchell Lake, in the Indian Peaks section of Roosevelt National Forest. Chuck and Terrell are fly-fishing in this incredibly beautiful lake at 10,700 ft. Casey is an intrepid hiker, as you can see. I spent most of my time on the ground next to the dogs.




Yesterday was Chuck's 65th birthday! He is dog-sitting in Colorado, so send him an e-mail at cmccabe@sbcglobal.net and tell him Happy Birthday! He is looking good and feeling good and is redefining 65, you know? On the trek up to the lake last week, he carried my pack, TOO, when I got too tired! Whatta guy!

Claire and Casey

Posing for the camera!

It's a Wrap!

CHEMO CAN KISS IT!! (Thanks to Beth Rutherford for his fantastic photo of my own personal a**. Honest. This is mine. Really.

Last chemo session yesterday! All done with that crap. I still have six months of another infusion therapy (something every three-ish weeks), but it doesn't take all day and I don't get sick or anything. AND MY HAIR WILL GROW BACK!!

Reconstructive surgery is tentatively scheduled for the end of August. The good news is I'm going to have a great new set. The bad news is that I start on an anti-estrogen oral med in three weeks, so you may not be able to see the cha-chas for the beard. Oh, well. Hooters' parties will be announced.

Yesterday WAS a great day, all in all. Claire was my co-pilot and chemo buddy ALL DAY. We left the house at 7:30 and got home about a quarter to six. She also served as pack mule and gopher and did an outstanding job. I think she was also good luck -- the day went very smoothly, no untoward delays or anything. Chemo was running late but they usually are. But the orders were in and they were right and I got the nurse I like best.

How wonderful it was to have Claire with me, and I'm very grateful to have such a fabulous young woman as my part-time daughter. I always have considered myself lucky that her mother was so generous to share with me, and she continues to be a very bright star in my very full life. Her dad likes her, too.

And today of course I feel ok. A little tired but nothing dreadful yet. That's scheduled for Friday through Sunday, if things run true to form.

Thanks to all of my chemo buddies and cheerleaders for getting me this far. When I think about the possessions I treasure most, #1 on the list is the love of my family and friends.

More later!!

Doggie Porn

How do ya like me now?

My friend Patricia came to visit!

We had a really good time. This photo was taken after Casey had snatched the bandanna off my head while I was wrestling on the floor with him. He was very proud of himself and wouldn't give it back to me. While I was upstairs finding another one for me, Chuck tied Casey's trophy around his neck. Then Trisha put one on so we'd all match.

Other People Are Stupid Over Their Dogs Too

My friend Greg Mader and his wife Arlene are goofy about Frances, their Rhodesian ridgeback. She simply would NOT stop peeing on the carpeting, so THEY REPLACED THE DOWNSTAIRS CARPETING WITH TILE, and even chose a special, more expensive grout that wouldn't show dog-pee stains. Frances has now taken to going upstairs to pee; and even though they have BOUGHT HER SPECIAL RUGS TO PEE ON, she continues to move them around and pee wherever she wants. Now they are considering REMODELING options that might keep Frances downstairs.



Therefore, I don't feel so bad about posting these photos of Casey. We took him and the camera down to the bayou to let him romp in the big post-rain puddles a couple of weeks ago. (Be sure and click on these so you can see them full size. I just love his face in these action shots.)
He played with a dog named Beau, and they had a terrific time. When we got back from the bayou, we took him out on the patio and gave him a bath. It was only after we'd finished that we realized we'd locked ourselves out. We had no shoes, no keys, no way to get out of the gate -- just a dog and some shampoo. We also had a rock, which Chuck used to break the kitchen window. Sigh.

Pharmacology Roulette or, Three Days on Diuretics

Chemo #5 came and went on Thursday, May 24. I waited for the inevitable slump and it happened on schedule, the evening of day two following chemo. Unfortunately it hit when we were sitting at Cafe Express Saturday evening with Linda and Terrell after having seen Avenue Montaigne. A darling movie it was, but I was longing to get horizontal all of a sudden and said grumpily, "We have to go walk the dog."

So, we scrambled out of our booth and T&L took us home. I headed to bed and Chuck took Casey out.

I felt like hell, predictably, on Sunday, and on Monday, too, the Memorial Day holiday. But late that evening, I knew I would start to feel better. I didn't. At all.

Tuesday morning was awwwwwwfullll. Previous chemos hadn't felt like this. Lying down was exhausting, and I couldn't stand up for more than a few minutes. Sitting was no help. I was supposed to be back at work, but I was too tired to cry. I even threw up once, and I was really depressed and worried that I was having chemo symptoms from hell.

Then I called the nurses, because Chuck had pointed out that the difference between this chemo and the last one was the diuretic I'd been put on by Dr. Fighter Pilot. I had complained mightily about my puffy feet and ankles and the astonishing weight gain over the previous couple of weeks, so he wrote a scrip for the diuretic. I had started taking it on Friday night.

The good news was that nearly 9 lbs had fallen off of me, but I still felt like I was going to have to get better in order to die.

Long story short: the diuretic had been "parting the Red Sea" strength and had sucked all of the potassium out of me. My blood urea nitrogen levels were elevated, which is what happens when your kidneys aren't working right. Man. That was nasty.

I stopped taking the diuretic and got better in 24 hours. Made it to work for part of the day Friday and was pretty ok by Saturday afternoon.

So, make a note. If you get prescribed a diuretic and you suddenly start feeling like you're having the worst flu ever, CALL THE DOCTOR.

Five down. One to go.

Hello, all. I finished my fifth chemo last night about 8 pm. Only one more, scheduled for June 19th, the Tuesday after Ann's and Mark's wedding. Dr. Fighter Pilot (Valero) said he really didn't like moving dates like that; I pointed out to him that we'd done it before, when he'd had jury duty. He said O.

Yesterday's schedule was done by a person that MD Anderson obviously hired from the airlines. Blood work at 7. Heart scan at 8. Heart scan takes a while, but I had 45 minutes before the third appointment, which should have been enough, but of course the heart scan machine had a broken heart or something. So I had to go climb onto another one and was running behind by the time they were through. I raced to the third appointment. Valero was running only about an hour late. I was out of there by 11:30. My next appointment -- the chemo -- was scheduled for 5 PM!!

Of course all beds are booked all day long. I went on up to infusion and asked to be put on standby. I got in at 4:15. By then my blood pressure was reading a little high (!), so we had to find me a blood pressure med before we could start infusing. I called Chuck at 7:30, and he and Casey picked me up just before 8 pm. Not so bad.

Honestly there must be 50 beds in that unit and they were ALL full, all day. Folks are dying to get in there. ahee. Sorry.

I do sometimes feel like kind of a fraud because I'm not sick, exactly. So many of those people look just awful and you know they feel like hell, too. I'm just annoyed and retaining fluid.

We're coming up to the holiday weekend, and I'll be down and whining by Sunday morning but hopefully bouncing back by Tuesday. Busy days ahead.

Hope all are well. We are fine. Soon there will be hair!!

Ok. Really. Do I have to help the cause of medical science too?

I am planning to back out of the study I said I'd be a part of. Why? Well, because I'm a bad and selfish person. Also, if the study is as loopy as the steps and missteps I've witnessed to get into the damned thing, they'll probably kill me. So here's how it went.

When I first met with the oncologist Dr. Valero back in February, he asked me if I would be part of a study about bone health and cancer drugs and all that. He said it would be a heckuva deal. I'd be put on one or another clinical trial drugs and I wouldn't have to pay for my Actonel the whole time. That appealed to me. Free meds! I says ok, and he says someone will contact me.

Someone called me at work and then mailed me a form. I read the form and called her and asked if she wanted me to mail it back. She said no, that they'd meet with me the next time I was in. So, I stopped taking the Actonel thinking that that drug would be given when I had chemo. But Dr. V didn't mention it at my chemo appointment, and honestly I was so nervous about my first chemo I had forgotten to ask.

When the second chemo came up, three weeks later, I mentioned to Dr. V that I thought I was supposed to be part of a study, and he said, "Yes, they will contact you." But no one did. DITTO at the third appointment.

When I got my appointment schedule in the mail for the fourth chemo, there was a visit to a dental oncologist scheduled for mid-morning. When I got into see Valero, I asked, "Why am I going to a dentist?" He replied, "The study people should have explained that to you," and he went ahead to explain that they'd be checking my teeth to make certain that my teeth-bones (whatever) were in good shape for one of the protocols I'd be on. I said I hadn't heard from anyone and he said he'd find her.

Then a nice person named Kimberly came in and had me sign a bunch of papers. She said I'd be in one of three protocols -- two drugs are administered by mouth, one by infusion. I said fine. I figured if I drew infusion, I'm already having that done every three weeks anyway.

THEN, I get through chemo 4 last Thursday. And then YESTERDAY, when I'm home feeling like someone should have gotten the license number on the garbage truck that ran me down, Kimberly calls to tell me that I've been randomized to the infusion group and that I have an 8 am this morning. I said, "Uh, no. I don't think I'm going to feel like dragging myself in for yet another infusion, given that I'm five days out from chemo. Also, I'm not supposed to get stuck with a needle, even a clean one, this close to chemo, am I?" (I mean, it's in ALL the paperwork. It's why I can't get a pedicure, for God's sake.)

Kimberly says, "Oh, that's ok for this." By which she means, WE can stick you and risk your getting an infection for our study, but your toes have to look like they've been done by a three year old for six months. So I say I can't make it, and she says brightly, "Fine. We can postpone it. I can set you up for Friday." I said I'd call her back.

And when I do call her back, I'm going to tell her I'm not playing unless the infusions can take place during the chemo. First, a "30 minute infusion at MD Anderson" involves driving there, remembering to apply the lidocaine to that the needle doesn't hurt, paying $11 to park the car, having them weigh me, applying more lidocaine, taking my blood pressure, making "oooo" noises about the blood pressure, putting me in a bed, and dripping me with stuff. Oh yes. And remember that NO ONE IS EVER ON TIME at MD Anderson. Each of my chemo sessions has been at least an hour late, if not more. My 10 am appt with the dental oncologist the other day happened at NOON. I'm thinking half a day each time. Good grief. I got a job, people.

So, whattya think? Am I justified here in denying them my body and my time for research? I need an amen.

Exotic patient complement at MD Anderson

They say people from all over the world come to MD Anderson. However, a large complement seems to be from Gulf Coast and deep East Texas, and many of those seem to be unclear on the concept of "indoor voice." There is a big-voiced man sitting too close to me (about half the length of a football field away) who makes Larry Murphy and David Ross sound positively upper class British. And he's chatty.

He bought him a 72 Chevelle and paid only 8 hunnert dollers for it, cause the woe-man who owned that thang had the same bank as him and we just done the deal right thar.

The best car I ever bought for her (her is sitting next to him) was a Ford EEEE-lite. No, wait. They bought that off the showroom floor but she didn't lak it so we tuk it back and got a two yar old Mercurry off the used lot there at Lone Store Ford (say MERcurry out loud to approximate the pronunciation) that had been owned by a doctor and that thang drove perfect for yars. 38 malls to the gallon.

He just said they might be interested in a Hyundai, once they get back home, They're real popaler and they look nass, those hon-dees.

Other interesting sightings: There was a woman in full chador (is the the right word?) in the breast center waiting room earlier. She was quiet. Draped completely in black from head to foot, she revealed only her dark pretty eyes. I was thinking, "I bet it's easy for YOU to get dressed in the morning . . ."

Chemo #4 starts about 1 pm or whenever I get over there. Right now I'm waiting in dental oncology, with Mr. Mercurry Chevelle and "her." This appt is to get me started in some kind of study. Whatever. Pat Caver is bringing lunch and magazines for the duration.

Possibly more effective than brandishing a firearm

The guy in the Taurus who cut me off on 59 yesterday seemed really amused watching me rant at his face in his rear view mirror. It was clear he could understand my mouthing the words "dumb-ass" (among others) and had full view of all my graphic gestures, but when I could bear his smarmy grin no longer, I snatched my wig off and threw it at my own windshield while calling him even more hideous names.

His smile disappeared at once. His face went pale.

He exited the freeway, most likely to head to the nearest confessional. "Bless me, Father, for I have changed lanes without signalling, and caused some lady in a Honda to tear her hair off."

We can only hope.

Amen.

Springtime in Southeast Texas

We're having a beautiful April here in Houston, which means it isn't stinking hot yet. Here's our blooming patio roof, very bower-like. It was cool enough last night to open windows (if you have THREE fans on you, which I do, that is, but I am a little warm these days).

All is well with me. I seem to have recovered more quickly from Chemo #3 than from the two previous. Perhaps I'm becoming accustomed to hideous chemicals being dripped into my body, but after staying very still for a few days, I was operating at nearly normal speed.

Work is good. We have ANOTHER new CEO, and we in Corporate Communications are pretty excited about this one because he seems to understand and appreciate what we do. His arrival also has lightened my mood and dampened some of my paranoia. We'll see how it goes.

Chuck and Casey are fine. They had a big day yesterday down on the bayou throwing sticks and jumping into puddles (Chuck was the thrower and Casey was the puddle-jumper-innner). After all of the activity, Casey was one mellow dog last night. He does need a tug-o'-war fix about 9 am every night, and he can easily be enticed into a game of keep-away on the staircase before bedtime. Yes, we are silly over this dog.

Lovely weekend coming, and we're looking forward to it. My nephew Jerry Corder is in town for Offshore Technology Conference, so we're hoping to link up with him this evening for dinner. He was a beautiful baby and is a nice grown-up, so it will be fun.

Hope all of you are well.

I wish I'd thought of this

Check out The Onion's story on how having a friend with cancer is good for your health. It's a SCREAM.
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/a_friends_cancer_good_for_your?utm_source=videomrss

This dog is smiling because he just HEARD THE NEWS!

Chuck and I have thought, all along, that I had eight chemos total. We don't know why we thought that, except our notes show that the oncologist told us that. HOWEVER,I have only SIX!! So, as of last Wednesday, I'm HALFWAY THROUGH! Is that great or what? This means I can schedule the last one just after Ann Taylor's wedding and then I'm DONE with the big mess.

Of course there will be smaller hellishness to deal with, but the big chemo is over by mid June and I am a person again shortly thereafter!!!!! We can do a 65th for Chuck after all!!!!!!!!!!

Conversations Overheard in Waiting Room Yesterday

Here are excerpts of conversations I heard and simultaneously e-mailed to Amy yesterday while I was waiting FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF in the plastic surgeon's waiting room. The appointment was just to say hi. Took TWO HOURS to say hi to me. On the other hand, I collected these marvelous conversations, below.

I'm in the waiting room sitting next to Jed, Granny, and Jethro. They have strong opinions on medicine, Don Imus, and numerous other topics. As you might imagine, they can't figure why it is ok to make fun of old white guys, "and old white WOMEN," chimes in Granny, but not anyone else.

And surely no one in here is getting a facelift, they ponder. This place is just for serious surgeries. It is taking everything I've got not to tell them that I'm here to discuss my upcoming boob job.

Now they are talking about how easy it is to tell the front leg of the deer from its back leg, given that someone of their acquaintance actually has a deer leg caught in a screen door. Through the magic of cell phones, they are considering calling the acquaintance to advise her of which leg it might be, based on the description.

"Tell her that a rake is the best thing to move it with," says Jed. And Granny says, "Even if it's a hind leg, tell her she she doesn't need to save it."

And Jethro, who has apparently been charged with making the call, bursts out, "Heck! I want to see it before she gets rid of it!"

I pick up the conversation again when Jethro says he once went to Mexico and paid $25 for a hamburger. He doesn't remember what town it was in, but Granny remembers it was the same place where Elizabeth Taylor went with her eighth husband.

Speaking of food, they are concerned about the buffet being closed by the time they get back to their motel. They may have to go to Olive Garden again.

Jed is complaining right now how brief the anesthesia meeting was. "He didn't even tell me his name," grumbles Jed. "Well," says Granny, "did you get his business card?"

"I didn't want his business card. I didn't want to know him at all," snaps Jed, effectively ending that topic of conversation.

I tune back in when they are trying to remember the character who played "the warsherwoman" on some TV show who was always getting hit with a purse by some old guy who was trying to get a date with her.

"Was it Carol Burnett?"

"No, but the old guy was definitely Tim Conway."

"Maybe it was Saturday Night Live." [And right here let me add, parenthetically, if these overall-ed folks ever watched SNL, it was one of the seaons in which the show had totally jumped the shark.]

"No."

"The woman wasn't all that ugly when she was cleaned up though. I remember that."

I'm enjoying the exchange too much to say "Ruth Buzzi" and "Laugh-in." And if I'd tried to explain that it was she who had hit Arte Johnson with HER purse, then we'd be at it all day.

As it was, this conversation, like the others, just trailed off. While I waited for next GRNF (group random neural firing), they were called in for their appointment. I think Jed was the actual patient. Granny was there for moral support. Jethro obviously had driven the truck.

Be Alert! America Needs More Lerts!

Yes, I stole the title from an old t-shirt, but this is important. This story is further proof that you need to understand that YOU are a KEY member of your healthcare team. Read, stay focused, pay attention to what people are saying and doing to you. Case in point: went in for chemo yesterday. Number 3. I take three drugs. We all know this.

The nurse came in to check the meds she had against my name and patient number, which I always deeply appreciate. She said, "You have two drugs and then the other stuff." I said, "No, I have three," and I named the third drug. She looked at her orders, apparently written by Chad the pharmacist, the OTHER busiest person at MD Anderson, and said, "Nope. You just have two today."

I asked her to call the doctor. "I do NOT want to have to come back tomorrow when he figures out we skipped the third drug."

She very kindly called him and found out there was indeed a third drug to be administered and we got that one, too.

I am NOT overly concerned about any of this for my own purposes. I am lucid, capable of rationale thought and reading diretions, not afraid to speak up, and eager and able to advocate for myself. What worries me is all of those other people -- I am ALWAYS the least dreadful looking person in the infusion center; some of these folks are really, really sick. They're in wheelchairs or on walkers, they look like they feel awful, and family members with them also look confused and desperate, which I imagine they are. What happens when THEIR nurse gets the wrong orders?

So, be a lert! And if you're not, take someone with you who is a lert, or at least take someone who is in a bad mood and asks a lot of questions.

On another note, this session's chemo buddy, the ever-popular Peg Newman, taught me to play cribbage. AND, she let me win! (Linda, are you paying attention?)

And guess what else: membership DOES have its privileges. If you want to take the little golf cart trolley from the Mays Clinic to the Main Building, say, if you want Chik-Fil-A for lunch but don't want to make that 12 minute trek through the buildings with a laptop on your shoulder, there are little golf carts with drivers that will take you. HOWEVER, if you're wearing a lab coat or scrubs or an MD Anderson badge or you otherwise look healthy, you have to WAIT. Patients get first priority. Last time I did this, I was dressed in a suit, wearing hair, and apparently looked like a pharm salesman. I had to wait for a second trolley. Yesterday, casually dressed and wearing a bandanna to cover my pate, I was moved to the front of the line. Sweet.

Favorite part of chemo? the food. Excellent ham sandwiches and yogurt and anything else you want. No wine list, though.

Next chemo scheduled for May 3, which is a Thursday. Photos of Casey and other bulletins as they occur.

Did everybody have a happy Easter?

We did. Very nice. Had a group over for a light lunch that turned out not to be so light. I recount the menu here so that I'll remember it for next time. Rapee morvandelle (a quiche-like thingy); smoked salmon; steamed asparagus with Hollandaise; sour cream coffee cake (courtesy of Peg); pickled eggs (also courtesy of Peg); beautiful fruit plate made by Chuck; and strawberry shortcakes for dessert, also made by Chuck. AND mimosas and sparkling cherry juice (ditto that Peg-thing). Everybody brought flowers and our downstairs is a riot of tulips! So pretty. Guests included Terrell and Linda; Ann and Mark; Peg, of course; and Linda's young cousin Anita, aged 11, from California. GREAT crowd and Chuck and I had a very nice time.

Casey and Henry played outside. Actually Casey ran around trying to instigate something with Henry while Henry alternated between looking at his watch and begging to come in the house so he could get away from that lunatic. Casey actually knocked over the birdbath, WHILE Chuck was saying, "I don't think he can knock it over. It's pretty heavy." Casey tried to jump ON TOP OF IT. Anita and I SAW him.

Here's our Easter table. That's Peg talking to Anita.

Today I am exhausted from too much activity, I guess. Gotta get ready for Chemo #3 on Wednesday. Oh joy.

I just read about Kiva.org

I just love this idea.

You know what's cute? Casey.

Here he is sleeping on the bookcases in Chuck's office. I used to study for tests like this, certain that the information in the books would leak into my brain. No wonder I crammed four years of college into six.

Claire has an avatar

Let's let HER explain it.

Becoming More Chemo-Savvy

Tuesday was a long day. Many clusterf***s at MD Anderson. Liz was right. The medicine part is good but the administration is BROKEN. They had to draw blood twice. Let's see. I'm a chemo patient. I'm in a cancer hospital. Wonder if I need the CBCs checked. Nope. Yes? Ok. Stick her again.

I had no appt with the oncologist scheduled, despite attempting to leave messages into the full voice mailbox of the busiest person at MD Anderson -- his scheduler. When I finally got in front of her and kicked a chair, she told me it was the doctor's fault. I told her we should have him fired -- how could I have blood work and chemo scheduled without the oncologist? Then she blamed the nurses. I said we should have them fired too. So when I got in to see Valero and his nurse, I told them that the scheduler and I had decided they were both fired, since they're not doing their jobs.

Chemo started an hour late. Still not sure why. I was there, but my orders weren't. I like the port; that is a pretty carefree way to be hooked up to something. Slick. Doesn't hurt.

Then I reacted to one of the drugs about an hour into things. Woooooeeeee. It was kind of like what happens when Carole eats strawberries, times three or five.

They got benadryl and more steroids into me and started over. So dear Linda's three hours at chemo with Pat turned into SIX. Long day. We didn't get home until after 10, I think. We played two games of Scrabble and then watched TV. The benadryl knocked me out.

The double dose of steroids might have cost me my career yesterday when I went all postal on a conference call. Fred smoothed things over, but there are more eruptions today over my telling a bunch of salespeople that they are WRONG and don't know CRAP about branding a company. I am pretty sure I even pointed out that NO Coca-Cola distributor gets to paint his truck blue, and did they know why that was? Anyway, rough day. And I am not too popular.

Went to the gym this morning. Shana "stretched" me for a while and then we did light weights. I'm blonde today. Already feeling dumber!

I know I'm going to feel like death on a cracker starting tonight or tomorrow. At least I know there's a light at the end of that short tunnel. And as Kelly Coyner says, the SECOND one is now behind me. Only six to go!!

Hair today. Gone tomorrow.

Friday morning, after I'd washed and dried my hair, I finished it in the usual way -- running styling "mud" through it with my fingers. Handsful of hair came out. So, this afternoon, my dear husband sat me in the bathroom and shaved it off for me with his barber clippers. Now there's an intimate moment.

My hair is now about 1/16th of an inch long, except where there isn't any. I am experimenting with numerous do-rags, turbans, and scarves. Charmy sent me several that may be helpful. I'll wear wigs to work and in public so as not to frighten co-workers and children. The pirate look may be my best bet for casual wear and the gym. With a very short burr haircut, though, I look a lot like Danny Skaggs. Note to Tommy: my head is NOT shaped like yours after all. But my unadorned face is perfectly round; if it were yellow and I had black dots for eyes, I could model for Wal-Mart.

Other than that, a nice weekend. Amy Mata came from Shreveport and we talked and talked and shopped and talked and ate. Douglas, her 21 year old Rice senior, met us for dinner on Friday night and he is so, so cool. She's proud of both of her boys, for good reason.

Our big event happened when she was helping me dog-wrangle Casey home from a walk yesterday afternoon. She tripped over the very uneven sidewalks in the Montrose and went sprawling. She probably could have caught herself if she hadn't had a 55 lb dog pulling on her as she went down. She tore her slacks and skinned both knees, bunged up her hand and wrist, and landed ever-so-not-softly on her cheek on a concrete step. We are lucky her face wasn't broken, but she may have sprained a wrist. I was just sick. After dinner, as she sat on the sofa with an icepack on her face, Casey jumped up beside her and put his head in her lap. Still didn't help her bruised and scraped face, though. She was meeting old friends for brunch this morning; we sent along a photo of Casey so she could show how the thing happened. Otherwise, they might have believed something worse . . . "No, my husband and I DO get along."

Chemo #2 on Tuesday. Batten down the hatches!

Casey had a problem with the thunderstorms

Casey was worried all night about the thunderstorms. He wouldn't stay in his crate downstairs without barking, and so he slept on the big dog bed in our bedroom. But about 5 am, he woke up and just couldn't calm down. So here's where he ended up. And yes, he's asleep in that position. I love you all very much to let you see me like this. Please be charitable and cover your mouths politely when you guffaw.

Having a big day: sewing up dog toys. How about U?

Lovely warm -- low 80s -- day in Houston today. Remind me, when I start to complain about summer, how COLD I was in February. I dragged out the sewing machine and the sewing basket and have been sewing up dog toys today, but I fear they won't hold once you-know-who decides to do that death-rattle thing with them. You can almost hear his thoughts: "I'll break its neck! I'll break its neck!" At least I tried. I also cut up a comforter into dog-bed sized rectangles and sewed around the edges, so we have extra dog binkies.

But I am no Mama Lela or Auntie Myrtle. My sewing is pretty primitive. If anyone asks, I'll say Casey did it and I helped him.

I hope I'm not jinxing things, but Chuck may have found the recipe for success for wearing out the dog. He took Casey out yesterday to the vacant lot across the street, took him off the leash, and threw a stick for him for a while. He reported that Casey was much better and less kwazy on his walk after that and calmer the rest of the day. We just can't let him off the leash generally speaking, except out onto the patio, where he usually stands at the back door and complains to get back in. TODAY, Chuck took him out for stick throwing TWICE, and then I took him a third time while Chuck planted basils. Chuck and I are both upstairs now and the dog is downstairs under the kitchen table, close to unconsciousness. He usually needs to be wherever Chuck is, or if Chuck isn't home, he wants to be where I am. This is very good news. We may have a normal dog -- but again, do whatever it is you do to unjinx something.

Other good news is that this is day 11 after chemo 1, and I feel really pretty good. I'd give myself an 85% on energy/normal-feeling, maybe an 88 or a 90. My bosses have very graciously allowed me to use a couple of mornings a week to meet my trainer at the gym, and we believe doing this early in the day as opposed to trying to last until 6 pm will help with my energy levels. One annoying side effect is I think from the steroids used in the chemo. My complexion, not known for its peaches and cream tendencies anyway, is just wrecked. I look like The Last Days of Lyle Alzedo (extra points if you get the reference).

I went to the gym Thursday morning with no makeup on -- must have been frightening for everyone there -- but when I came out of the locker room, showered, made-up, wigged-up, and business-suited, dear Luis who works behind the counter said, "You look beautiful." That just made my day.

We have bartending duties at Linda Walsh's photo exhibition this afternoon at Te over on Fairview and Woodhead. After that I think we're headed to dinner with Anna and Lucy. Love to everyone. All is well.

And hi, Aunt Evelyn. You're right! A real letter is a super treat! There's one coming your way in return!

How Chemo Works, So Far . . .

Here's what I know so far. This is how I described it to Richard in an e-mail last night.

I had a wacky first week of chemo. Wednesday evening (the 28th) was drip day, and I think I may know a tiny bit what it feels like to be in Huntsville, getting poison dripped into your veins. Ick. I didn't have any adverse reactions onsite except boredom, and my friend Linda will come next time to play Scrabble with me, which should make things less dull. One thing I've learned, though: No matter how quick your step when you go into chemo (or into any other procedure where you're hooked up on IVs and stuff), you can only, ONLY shuffle when it's time to get up and go to the bathroom and you have to drag that IV post along with you. There's just no cool move in that situation. Scootch, scootch, scootch. The feet simply cannot leave the floor. Very unattractive.

And the new thing at MD Anderson, after hand-washing, which they seem to have invented and are true nazis about, is falling. I was instructed NOT to get up from the potty without calling the nurse. Apparently she loses her good parking place or something if I fall on her watch. Or else she has to continue working the night shift and to deal with people like me who ask random neural firing questions. Where are you from? Who else is here? What do you guys watch on TV? Didn't you think Lenny was much better on Law & Order than any of the replacements who've come after him? Did you remember that you have to drip in the zofran before you start the third poison drip? What about SVU? Do you know why Mariska Hargitay is famous? Who her mother was? And that she was in the car when her mother died? Important stuff like that to pass the time. And the whole deal took FOUR hours.

Anyhow, Thursday I was ok. Made it to work and was strangely buoyant, sort of. Friday went well enough and I even went to the gym for a fast turn on the treadmill. Saturday morning I woke up and felt like everyone I knew, including myself, was dead or dying. I was sad, heartbroken, and very, very, very tired. Sunday wasn't much better, although I did manage to drag myself out of bed to meet Terrell and Linda for dinner. We went as far as Te the tea shop and getting through my panini was brutal. We went back to T&L's for a gorgeous homemade chocolate cake and I cratered in the middle of it. Made it to work for three hours only on Monday, four hours on Tuesday, and SIX Wednesday. Left at 4 and went to the gym -- wore my F*ck Cancer t-shirt and made 45 minutes on the treadmill. I feel very proud. and tired. I have not been nauseated at all, but I have some heavy drugs handy to prevent that. I didn't have to take any of them yesterday, which was good, since a side effect of compazine is blurry vision. Makes the trip to work on the Southwest Freeway more interesting and a bit of a challenge, but probably not the smartest thing to do.

Tonight for dinner we had two adorable chicken pot pies that my sister Carole had made and frozen for us when she was here. Oh yum yum yum. That was food of the gods. And pretty to look at. Also easy to clean up. I refer here both to the pot pies and Carole.

I'm hoping that chemo runs at that sort of shedule: two not-so-crappy days, followed by two or two-and-a-half really crappy days, and then energy starts to return. I've learned that breakfast is a very important meal. Don't miss it or bad things happen. Next chemo is scheduled for the 20th. Bulletins as they occur.

Casey likes to look out of the window

Casey likes to drape himself over the weight bench that sits near the windowseat in Chuck's office. Then he can check out the goings-on in the street. Cars going by, people walking. He's interested in everything. Still very little in the way of discipline, though. Still thinks I'm a chew toy and that we deserve to be barked at if we are not actively petting him.

Eric and Brittany are honoring ME.

Me AND Brittany's grandmother, by participating in the Susan B. Komen run in San Antonio. Eric is my brother Tommy's baby, except now he has a wife and two children.

The whole family is listed as the team, Eric, Brittany, Hallie, AND Bear. Anyway, if you want to support them, as they support me, here's the link. http://sakomen.org/ Click on find a participant, and sponsor a Wente!!

Me as a brunette

Ok. What do you think of this hair-do? Sort of Paul McCartney, n'est-ce pas?

I've decided to return to suits. Easier to get dressed in the morning. This is a new Ann Klein, very navy and serious. The shawl Claire gave me for Christmas brightens it up and matches the purple suede pumps (also Ann Klein) that you cannot see. I did not, however, remember to shake the dog hair out of the shawl (which I had worn a lot at home during reovery) and so there was a serious problem with the suit once I got to work. Beth de-haired me, bless her.

One down; seven to go.

Long day yesterday. Had the port placement done in the morning, but they were running behind in the OR so I waited and waited. Then went over to chemo and the orders weren't in place. Finally started about 4 o'clock. Finished by 8:30, including tuna salad, a couple of episodes of "Without a Trace" and Law & Order SVU.

I'm feeling ok thus far, somewhere between loopy and jazzed. Come to think of it, that's how I usually feel. But all is well. I'm at work today and glad to be here. I miss my gang when I'm at home.

We have a new thing at home: when Chuck puts his arms around me to tell me everything is going to be ok, Casey gets in on the act. Jumps up and puts his paws on my back or Chuck's. I know if he could talk, he'd be saying, "Group Hug!"