Words for the Day

Last year about this time, I wrote a blogpost about my Scripture reading regimen. As I noted then, it's not a Read-the-Bible-in-a-Year plan. So any particular pericope can fall on any given day.

Well, this morning's readings were strikingly appropriate for New Year's Day . . . unless you insist that "appropriate" mean "full of cheer."

First there was Psalm 90, the one I call the "Our God, Our Help in Ages Past" psalm.  This "Prayer of Moses, the Man of God," speaks eloquently of the passage of time and the transience of this life, compared with the solid eternity of Almighty God:

1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place
throughout all generations.
2 Before the mountains were born
or you brought forth the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

3 You turn men back to dust,
saying, “Return to dust, O sons of men.”
4 For a thousand years in your sight
are like a day that has just gone by,
or like a watch in the night.
5 You sweep men away in the sleep of death;
they are like the new grass of the morning—
6 though in the morning it springs up new,
by evening it is dry and withered.

7 We are consumed by your anger
and terrified by your indignation.
8 You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 All our days pass away under your wrath;
we finish our years with a moan.
10 The length of our days is seventy years—
or eighty, if we have the strength;
yet their span is but trouble and sorrow,
for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

11 Who knows the power of your anger?
For your wrath is as great as the fear that is due you.
12 Teach us to number our days aright,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

13 Relent, O LORD! How long will it be?
Have compassion on your servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble.
16 May your deeds be shown to your servants,
your splendor to their children.

17 May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands.*


Yes, Lord, we do pray for days of gladness in 2011.  And that you will give us work to do and establish it.  But most of all, that you will bring us to see that you are our dwelling place, our satisfaction, and our wisdom.  But do you have to remind us of our weakness and our sin?  You mean we're not capable of doing everything right in this new year, if we try really hard?

Then, today, it was time to begin Ecclesiastes.  Not my favorite book.  And in the first chapter, Solomon says:

1 The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:

2 “Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

3 What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?
4 Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
5 The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
6 The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
7 All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
8 All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
9 What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
10 Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
11 There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

What?  Is it indeed inevitable that "auld acquaintance [should] be forgot/ And never brought to mind"?  Is the work of our hands ultimately futile?  Does the inevitable round of the years mean we're wasting our time to try to do anything new, because it's all been done before and it's all equally meaningless in this life under the sun?

But do I have to life my life "under the sun"?  What if I make a concentrated effort to dedicate myself in 2011 to live "under God" instead?  Can I do that?

Maybe Romans 5:12-21 has an answer:

5:12 Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all men, because all sinned— 13 for before the law was given, sin was in the world. But sin is not taken into account when there is no law. 14 Nevertheless, death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, even over those who did not sin by breaking a command, as did Adam, who was a pattern of the one to come.

15 But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! 16 Again, the gift of God is not like the result of the one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. 17 For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.

18 Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all men. 19 For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous.

20 The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, 21 so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Yes, truly, death, decay, and futility did enter the world through Adam.  As his descendants we're all locked onto and broken by the wheel of Time.  But Solomon, O king, there is something New under the sun.  And that is the irruption of Jesus Christ the Son of God into this meaningless world.  Jesus has brought grace, brought life, brought righteousness, brought meaning.  The iniquities Moses speaks of in Psalm 90 are forgiven and wiped away in Christ.

O Lord my God, in this year and all years may we reign with you in life through your abundant gift of righteousness and grace, come to us through your Son, Jesus Christ.  In him and to his glory, establish the work of our hands, O God, establish the work of our hands!

____________________________________
*All passages from The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1984

Christmas Carol

I didn't think I would be able to produce a Christmas carol this year; not enough energy and too much going on.  But this past Monday a rudimentary melody and the words started coming to me; by Tuesday the poem was pretty well finished and I had the notes of the soprano/unison line written down; on Wednesday (or was it Thursday-- my short term memory stinks) I downloaded the MuseScore free software and started in on the notation; and by Thursday and Friday I had the thing pretty well done.

And here it is:


O brothers, sisters, let us sing,
Alleluia, allelu,
How came the birth of Christ our King,
Allelu, alleluia.
Once Earth was new, and we were free,
But Adam sinned most dreadfully
And sold us all to slavery,
Allelu, alleluia.

In death's dark prison we were bound,
Alleluia, allelu,
And in ourselves no hope we found,
Hosanna, alleluia.
But God looked down on our distress,
His oath on Abram He did rest,
That through him, mankind would be bless'd,
Hosanna, alleluia.

The prophets bold foretold the day,
Alleluia, allelu,
When grace would sweep our guilt away,
Allelu, alleluia,
When to us, fearful and forlorn,
A holy Savior would be born
To dwell with us, that blessed morn,
Gloria, alleluia!

So, humble, in a manger laid,
Alleluia, allelu,
Jesus was born of mortal maid,
Gloria, alleluia!
The very Son of God was He,
But bent He to our frailty
And shared our doomed humanity,
Allelu, alleluia!

Beside Him, lamb and oxen stood,
Alleluia, allelu,
And He became the Lamb of God,
Hosanna, allelu!
Upon His cross He off'ring made
Of His own flesh, His might displayed,
Now sin and Satan are dismayed,
Allelu, alleluia!

Then Christ our Savior burst the grave,
Alleluia, allelu!
And to His faithful, life He gave,
Allelu, alleluia!
Before the angels now He names
Us brothers, sisters-- unashamed
Of us His holy blood reclaims,
Gloria, alleluia!

Now we from death have been set free,
Alleluia, allelu!
And sons in glory aye shall be,
Allelu, alleluia!
To God our Father, praises bring,
To Christ, our Brother and our King,
O brothers, sisters, let us sing!
Gloria, alleluia!


Maybe what got me off dead center with this was remembering how, a few months ago, the pastor of the church I attend when I'm not preaching somewhere challenged us to come up with hymns on the doctrine of Adoption.  I can't say this is that hymn, but thinking about the theme made me consider that something could be done with Hebrews, chapter 2.  And so I did.

I still have to publish it, meaning run off copies of the score and send them to my kinfolk and friends in lieu of Christmas cards or gifts.  I've already published it online, here.

A blessed Christmastide to all five of my readers.  Remember, it's all true.

Two Lines

Two lines to say that my CT scan from November 18th was clean, my CA-125 blood test number is low (which is good), and I got a very cheerful No Evidence of Disease pronouncement from my chemo doctor at my visit on November 22nd. 

He says I won't have to get another scan until six months out.  With my cancer having been caught so early and treated so aggressively, there's no point in exposing me to the radiation at quarterly intervals.  I'll have another blood test and visit in February, but that's all.

Unless the CA-125 levels are up.  But we won't invite trouble and expect that.

My head hair is about 3/16" long now, all white, or maybe it's platinum blond?  The eyebrows are returning, too, in a pale gray.  I hope that's won't be their final color.  Not sure about the eyelashes-- I'm so farsighted I can't see if they're coming back yet, even looking in the magnifying mirror!  I'll have to get somebody to look for me.

So now if I can get the rest of the copay bills discharged, I'll be on my way to putting this behind me.

God willing, of course.

Getting Lit Up

Today I embark on the next stage of my cancer cure journey.

Though maybe I don't want to use the words "next stage" in regard to cancer, since it implies things getting worse, not better.  Which, God willing, is not the case.

I'm presently sitting in the waiting room of the radiation oncology department of my local hospital, slurping iodine water to light me up for my baseline CT scan. 

Now that my chemotherapy's over, I get the exquisite pleasure (!) of going in for a CT scan every three months for two years to make sure the cancer zombies aren't coming back.  Then once every six months for three years after that.  The baseline scan today should-- no, blast it, will establish that I'm free of all abdominal and pelvic masses, tumors, lumps, bumps, and other execrences that could even vaguely be construed as cancer.

Coincidentally, yesterday my friend Ruth* (also a cancer survivor) sent me a link to an NPR feature about an oncologist who has just published a book called The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer.   In it he writes about the manifestations of cancer throughout human history, coupled with his own experience treating patients suffering from it today.  The excerpt seemed well-written and compelling.  I may read the book when the subject becomes less . . . personal.

But at the bottom of the book article were links to other NPR items, including a rather alarming one about increased risk of secondary cancers from both diagnostic and follow-up CT scans and other radiology techniques.  There is a particular danger, it said, for women in my age group who undergo repeated scans.  The author says that the amount of radiation varies from hospital to hospital, machine to machine, but in some the dosage is as high as what the survivors at Hiroshima and Nagasaki suffered . . . and we know what happened to them later in life.

Oh, joy.  Isn't this just designed to inspire confidence!  But as I understand it, I have to have these tests, because if despite everything the ovarian cancer manages to come back, it has to be found as soon as possible.  So a few minutes ago, when the nurse brought out the iodine water and the clipboard with the form to fill out, I mentioned the radiation risk.  And happily, she agreed that in my case, with the repeated scans scheduled, they should assuredly put me in the low-dose machine.  And happily again, that turns out to be the one they used on me last March.

So here we go.  God grant that I will now and hereafter be dancing with NED (No Evidence of Disease) and all this will be strictly routine.

Coming Through

This past Monday was my last chemo session!  GodwillingGodwillingGodwil-ling that's the last of the Taxel and the Carboplatin.

I should have been done the last Monday in September, but my persistently-low white cell counts made it necessary that my treatments have four weeks between them, not three, after the second infusion in early July.

Anyway, all six are past now, and I've really come through it pretty well, considering.  My eyelashes, eyebrows, and most of my head hair are gone, but I expected that.  I never lost my sense of taste and actually gained about three pounds.  My luck, right?  It's just that every time I'd think of eating raw vegetables out of my garden, I'd get a scratchy feeling in my tummy and headed for the bread and pasta instead.  Everybody says my color is good (whatever that means), and with the wigs I manage to pass for healthy with people who don't know me well.

I am being annoyed with a spot of peripheral neuropathy in my fingers and toes, since my fifth treatment the end of September.  My toes feel continually like there's crud between them, and my fingertips sometimes feel like sausages.  But they don't actually hurt and I do all right, regardless.  I mean, I can still fasten my jewelry and obviously, I can use a keyboard.

About the only thing that's bugging me in any real way just now is a bronchial infection I developed about a week and a half ago when I overdid it raking leaves a few days in a row and can't seem to shake.  This is a real joy (not), since I'm heading into my lowest white cell count.  I wasn't able to come in to teach when I was called this past week, and won't be able to until this clears up.

Here's the funny thing, though:  It really looks like my head hair is already trying to come back!  I noticed this on Tuesday, the day after No. Six.  Little white or light blonde spikes, all over my head.  They say it's supposed to grow in baby-soft and fine, but this definitely feels prickly to me.

Oh, well.  At least it's not red, like some bright soul suggested.  Not that I have anything against redheads; I just don't have the coloring for it.

I'm Not Sure

I had my first stint substitute teaching today since before my surgery last April, and I'm not sure I have the stamina for it.

If I were a better cat-herder-- I mean, a more proficient emergency teacher of 2nd graders-- I might think differently.  But by the end of the school day I was nearly weeping from exhaustion.  And now it's almost 7:00 PM and I'm sitting here still in my work clothes starving to death because I'm too shattered to get out of my desk chair.

Except for one child, who was so obstreperous early on that he started kicking the aide and had to have Security called on him, the kids weren't malicious or bad . . .  they just didn't know how to stay in their seats quietly doing their work.  They didn't understand that finishing a test early didn't give them the license to walk around the room bothering those who were still working.  They didn't realize that the end-of-the-day leaving chaos was not a good time for them to blindside me with fundraising forms, saying they had to take them to the office. And as my limited energy ran out, so did my creativity.  By 3:00 PM I was reduced to saying, "I know nothing about that.  Ask your teacher on Monday."

I'd just say No to substituting until the chemo treatments are over, except that a) I need the money; and b) I'm on a tiny bit of Unemployment Compensation, based on the subbing I did last fall and winter, and if I turn down work it's deducted from my benefit amount.  I don't know: the full possible benefit is equivalent only to two days of work and may not be worth demolishing my health over.  But again, anything coming in helps and it seems wrong to forfeit it.

My throat is sore, my sinuses are blocked, and I need to go eat. But I'm on to preach on Sunday with a sermon still to write so I won't exactly be resting this weekend.  We'll see what my blood counts look like when I go in for my chemo Monday morning.  The way my body feels now, I'm frankly glad I can't accept any teaching work that day, whether they can infuse me then or not.

Well, All Right

A friend who follows this blog mentioned on Facebook this evening that I'd been leaving all three of you dangling for several weeks.

All right, let's do a highlight reel.

1) Not sure what was wrong with the car, but it hasn't done it since.  The garage thinks maybe a piece of dirt stopped the fan and that's why it overheated.  They didn't charge me for checking it, which was nice.

2)  On the 19th of July I attended one of the American Cancer Society's "Look Good, Feel Better" makeup sessions.  It wasn't exactly what I expected.  I thought it'd deal specifically with how to mask the visible effects of chemotherapy, but it was more like basic this-is-how-you-put-on-makeup.  Good grief, I've known that since high school.  Well, I came home with some products I could use, so that's something.

3)  Twice now I've had to postpone my chemo treatment a week because my blood counts were too low.  I don't have much leeway to begin with, so it's not surprising that my white counts, especially, have taken a hit.  Thank God, they've come back up in time for me to get my infusions at a four week interval, with no supplementary blood-boosting drugs.  But the delays mean I won't  be finished until the 11th of October-- if I'm lucky.  It could stretch out to nearly Halloween.

4)  As far as effects go, tiredness is the main one.  It's hard to tell if I'm being lazy or if it's just chemo effect.  I know I don't get as much work done as I'd like to.  The hair, even after four treatments, isn't 100% gone, though alas, the eyebrows are flaking out a bit.  I admit I look in the mirror and see my little-old-man pate and think, "This is stupid!  I could have gone the rest of my life without this!"  But there it is.  And fortunately, I do okay with the wigs when I go out.  Otherwise, I let my head hang out around the house. And sometimes in the yard.  And the neighbors' yards.  Unless it's too hot or too chilly, that is. 

Everyone tells me how healthy I look.  This is good, I know, but sometimes I crave a little sympathy.

Or maybe I don't.  I don't like it when people patronize me over the chemo.


5)  I've been getting a shot at four different interim pastor positions the past three or four weeks.  "Three" I should say now, since one of the churches phoned me today and said they'd decided to hire someone else.  And that's the church that's given me the only real interview so far; the rest of them have been informal look-sees when I've come to supply preach.  I spent a week obsessing about that interview and getting really depressed about my prospects-- how to cover what happened in the past without making me or my former church or my presbytery look lame--, but I felt it went well on the day.  Not well enough, obviously.  But maybe it wasn't the right position for me anyway.  That church is in the middle of a worship war, with "contemporary" currently in the ascendency, and if there's anything I find to be a non-edifying, crashing bore, it's so-called contemporary worship.  I would not have been neutral, no matter how hard I tried!

I hope and pray something comes of one of these churches, since I can't support myself on substitute teaching.  (School year started here this past Tuesday, but I haven't been called in yet.)

That's good enough.  I'll try to be more diligent about posting in the future.  Besides, when you're in my position and you go silent, people might begin to worry.  I know I do.

Car Woes

By mid-September, I'll have my 2004 Chrysler PT Cruiser paid for.   What I need to do now is, convince the beast that that doesn't mean it can go off having issues to make up for that.

There was the belt replacement need three or so weeks ago.  But the chirping and came back, and this past week I had to solve that by having the shop put in a new belt tensioner.  This should have been the last I had to see of them till my inspection was due.

But no!  This morning, I was on my way to church, I was six minutes and 3.4 miles short of getting there, when ding! an alarm sounded over whirr of the breeze through the open windows.  I looked; the temperature indicator light was on.  What?  Looked again, the needle of my temperature gauge was moving upwards and in a moment showed as high as it could get.  Yikes! my radiator was boiling over!

Happily, there was a gas station just up ahead.  I let my momentum more or less take me into it.  Parked, raised the hood: yes, there was steam escape around the rim of the radiator cap.  No, I did not touch it or try to open it. 

Neither of the young men clerks in the station convenience store knew anything about cars, but they let me look up the number for the lube shop down the street.  Asked the guy there, any chance I can refill the radiator and get to church after all?  No, he said.  I obviously had a leak and I risked blowing a gasket and cracking my engine block.

Well.  I did that on another car, back in 1994, and don't want to repeat the experience.  So I had to wait for AAA and get the Little Red Dragon towed.

It's presently sitting in the parking lot of the repair shop, and won't they be surprised to see it in the morning!  When they put on the new belts for me they noticed coolant leaking, but they thought they'd solved the problem by installing a new hose clamp.  I hope it's just a hose needing replaced now, and not a water pump or whatever.  Tow truck guy cheerfully assured me the car is eminently fixable, which I knew:  I just don't like this being nickle and dimed to death.  Specially not now.

Wig Hats

Put on your high heel sneakers,
Wear your wig hat on your head,
Put on your high heel sneakers,
And your wig hat on your head.
Ya know you're lookin' mighty fine, baby,
I'm pretty sure you're gonna knock 'em dead.




For somebody as improverished and unfashionable as I am, I have acquired an absurd number of wigs.  I've even had to mount a separate shelf to help hold them all.Three from my friend Frieda*, the impossible one from Dorothy* the wigmonger, the two and 2/3 (counting the "halo" I wore for the first time on Sunday) I have from the ACS fashion prosthetics arm, and as of Monday, two from my mom.

One, which I can only describe as Texas Big Hair (sorry, Mom) is a reddish shade that is shockingly like the color of my hair as previously dyed (I know-- I kept a lot of it when I had it cut two weeks ago).  Color looks good on me; the style-- hmm, not sure where I can wear it, definitely dress-up party material.

But the other one is a lot more sensible and looks the best on of the whole lot.  It's a medium brown with blonde highlights styled in a short informal flip.  Kind of a Mariska Hargitay look, and if I want to evoke a celeb, I'd rather it were she than a lot of others.  I've worn that one a lot this week, and I think it looks the most like me; or at least, me when my hair is behaving.

Meanwhile, on Tuesday I figured out why the dark brown "Caitlin" wig looks so puffy and big on me.  It's too big.  I tried it on again and noticed, good grief, my ears are sticking out at a 45 degree angle!  I'd already decided I needed to trade in the "Sabrina," since it's way too blonde.  I called the TLC people and found out I'd measured the ear to ear dimension totally wrong.  Then I looked at the TLC wig from Frieda I successfully wore on Saturday, and discovered it's a Petite.

So today both of those went back.  Can't return them, since they were on sale, but I'm getting the replacements in the smaller size, with the long brown one in a tone with some highlights in.  Don't really fly with that stark '70s rocker look.  And the shorter curly one, I'm going with the same brown with blonde highlights that I like in the one Mom sent me.  I figure that way I won't freak people out so badly-- to the casual observer, it'll just look like I've got my hair curled or not.

I think I'll be a bit relieved when my hair comes out entirely.  Till then I'm wearing a little knit scullcap under the wigs to keep the loose hairs out of them.  And sometimes it's a bit hot and a lot of times it itches.  But I get used to it, I find.  After awhile, I'll be able to wear my wig of choice and forget I have it on, just like I can live my life and take care of my business and forget I'm dealing with cancer and chemo or any of that foolishness.

Just for fun, here's the remainder of the wig parade, mostly taken in my bathroom mirror:

"Caitlin," Take 1

"Sabrina," Take 1.  Not too bad in this light, actually . . .   But still not me.

Curly halo, with hat, of necessity

And I still don't have a picture of the awful one.

Where I'm going to use all these, I have no idea.  Too bad Dorothy* didn't have a René of Paris catalog in her shop.  The ones Mom sent are that brand, and his whole line looks very nice.  If I could have selected one like the short one, we would have solved the problem right away and I wouldn't be squirming under un embarras des richesses.

Hair Conditioning

I know what I said the other day about systematically brushing it all out; nevertheless, this past week I've been treating my hair like each separate strand was a silver penny slipping through my fingers.  At night I've been sleeping in weird positions to avoid rubbing any more out than absolutely necessary.  I dream about how to keep from losing it any faster than I have to, and keep myself semi-awake in the process.  The other night I had myself convinced-- in my dreams-- that if I slept in the guest bedroom, I wouldn't lose so much of my hair.

Maybe if I'd been satisfied about my wig situation, but I wasn't, not yet.  Thursday evening I modelled the new wigs for the neighbors, and they said the blonde one made me look like Marilyn Monroe and the dark one like Joan Jett.  All very well, but neither of those women are me and I don't want to be running around in a costume.

But Friday night I got a call from my friend Ruth* in Kansas City.  Ruth has been through breast cancer, twice, and chemo, twice.  Both times, she lost her hair. 

"Ruth, the first time, you had a wig, didn't you?  I mean, I don't remember any between time when you looked any different, really."

Yes, she'd had her surgery in October, started chemo in November, and started wearing her wig pretty much right away.

"Did you get your head shaved, or what did you do?"

"I just let it fall out whenever it would."

Not sure why, but this was a revelation.  Suddenly I felt I could stop babying my hair; I could let it go.  And whatever remains for however long it remains, I can stick it under my wig and let it be. 

So yesterday morning I got in the shower and washed my hair.  Same routine as always:  shampoo, scalp massage, creme rinse, the whole process.  And big wads of hair came out and had to be kept from going down the drain.  Upstairs before the bathroom mirror, I brushed what was left and more came loose.  And glad I was for that, since for awhile there I looked like the Charles Emerson Winchester III character from M*A*S*H.  It's not totally gone, far from it, though from the back the righthand side of my head is a lot more denuded than the left.  But what's gone is gone and what remains, remains.

And I put on my Laura Ashley flower print dress, pulled on one of the wigs Frieda* passed on to me, donned a straw hat over that, and attended the annual Beaver Library Garden Tour.  And no one who saw me there knew a darned bit of difference.

Round Two, Week One

Received my second chemotherapy infusion yesterday.  Nurse Nell* was willing to forego trying to put the cannula into the back of my left hand this time, but the first wrist vein we tried eluded the needle when she put it in.  So it was back to the tried and true sites on the inside of my wrist.

No flashbacks to the keg parties at the college dorm from the Benadryl this time.  When I told Nurse Nell it hadn't made me feel sleepy, just drunkish, she gave it to me more slowly.  And as the afternoon wore on, I was certainly tempted to catch some ZZZZs!

I exercised some discipline and used the first hours mending two more sweaters.  I will not have the schoolchildren next fall laughing at the holes under the arms of my cardies!  That wasn't a penance, despite the heat outdoors.  They do an excellent job at the Cancer Center keeping the interior climate controlled, not too chilly and not too warm.  Haven't needed to use the quilt I brought yet.

This time, though, I didn't get as much Western Civ literature read.  Brought my laptop and wasted a lot of time trying to get online via the fragile guest wireless signal they provide.  Managed to make a couple of Facebook status reports, but otherwise I was refreshing and refreshing and trying, trying, trying to reconnect more than I was working or surfing.

My pod mates were all older gentlemen.  One being treated for abdominal cancer (Eh.  That's the metastasis from my ovarian cancer I'm trying to avoid), one getting chemo for colon cancer, and the other one, I didn't ask.  The colon cancer guy was on infusion eight in a course of twelve.  Wow.  He told me that people "sail through the first one or two treatments, but it gets rougher after that."  Uh, yes, I've heard that can happen . . . meaning that every good day or week I have is to be received with conscious gratitude.

(I'm on to preach at least three times this summer.  Wonder if I should write those sermons now, while I'm still feeling half-decent?)

They must all have been getting different medications than I, because none of them were sporting chrome domes.  Me, I'm thinning out more every day.  (More on that below.)

It was interesting, too, that I was the first one in the pod and the last one out.  I started my pre-meds a little after 11:00 AM and finished up my chemo at 4:30.  Only one other woman was there getting chemo after me. 

My report time was actually 9:45, but I saw the doctor and had my bloodwork done first.  Found out from him that yes, I may take my beta-blocker pill if I need it; yes, I can have a glass of wine or a beer if I want it; and the reason I've had the munchies the past week and a half is because that's what Decadron, the steroid they give me pre-chemo, works.  It has been weird:  First ten days post-chemo, I've craved small meals of very healthy food.  Then bang! my blood sugar was crashing at the most unexpected times and I wanted chips!  donuts!  cornbread!  hot dogs!  at all hours.  And don't show me a piece of lettuce, though every lettuce plant in my garden should bolt from neglect!  I gained nearly a pound and a half since the 21st.

Today I'm back to the healthy eating phase.  At the moment I'm consuming a nice salad of lettuce, shelled snow peas, purple sweet peppers, mushrooms, and shredded cheese, the first three ingredients all from my garden.

Last night, I ground up some more leaves and mulched more of the vegetable garden.  I'm feeling quite normal today, too, maybe because I'm heeding the instructions and taking my anti-nausea pills even when I feel just slightly queasy.

My American Cancer Society wigs have come in and the best of them is the "halo" (tonsure!) you have to wear under a hat or scarf because it has no pate to it.  All of them need the bangs feathered out and thinned down, and I'm wondering if I've been a little too daring in ordering the Sabrina model in the golden blonde.  Though I've historically been on the blonde side, the dark brown of the Caitlin looks more "me," somehow.  And whichever one we're talking about, I think I have to get used to more bulk at the top.  Must be the Current Style.  But these aren't so bulky and wiggy as my "official" cancer wig is.  It still looks awful.  I tried it on for Frieda* when she came to pick me up yesterday morning and she thinks it definitely needs major pruning.

Oh, well.  I'm thinking of taking my whole wig wardrobe over next door the next time everybody gathers on the neighbors' porch and letting them say what they think.  If the golden blonde is agreed to be Too Much, I can always try again in my usual dark brownish (aka "dirty") blonde.

Once I'm satisfied I have at least one whole wig I won't be embarrassed to be seen walking about wearing in public, I'm going to drape a towel around my shoulders, take my hog-bristle hairbrush, and brush, brush, brush my hair right outta my head.

Transitional Hairdo

Here's what I had done to my hair last Tuesday, after which my friend Frieda* and I went and gorged ourselves at the Chinese buffet.  Now I'm no longer leaving bits of myself on the shrubs in the yard, and my hair doesn't feel so much like an alien entity perching on my head.

We didn't get any After shots that evening, because my stoopy camera was eating brand-new batteries like my dog would gobble up a piece of dropped raw meat.  But here's one I took in the bathroom mirror this evening.

Oh, yes, the problem-child wig is the one you see on the styrofoam head on the left in the background.  Looks better on it than it does on me!