Aloha, Maui

I have to say, if you are trying to generally avoid Christmas but still be celebratory and be certain not to be down, Maui is an excellent place to spend the holidays. I'm sure one could come here and really actually enjoy Christmas too (lord knows there are plenty of families here doing so. Oh, and note to said families, if you are going to have a family portrait on the beach at sunset, and you all do, for the love of god wear something other than khaki shorts and white shirts so we can tell you apart!).

Our Christmas day was spent whale watching (note photo; no, we are not whales. We did see some but oh my god are they hard to photograph) and having brunch, which included mai tais, with the Pacific Whale Foundation on board Discovery II. Unfortunately, we encountered a whale that had been seriously injured by a boat and since this was the Whale Foundation, our captain's job was to babysit the whale (and ward off other boats) until the rescue boat got there. Although the captain said there was probably nothing that could be done for the whale--except keeping other boats away (and how long can that go on for?). We spent most of the tour floating near the injured whale. Afterward, on our way back in, they cued the performing whale (who Chris named "Timmy"; I don't know why) and Timmy began performing spectacularly, repeatedly breaching and waving his dorsal fin--which is why it seemed he was a "ringer" whale to make up for the injured whale experience. Before Timmy, I almost, but didn't quite, launch into a sad state (the poor injured whale!). I kept telling myself it was nature (but it was a boat!!) and nature can be cruel (don't we know that?!). Timmy and his exuberance saved the day. Okay, so did the mai tais.

The rest of the day was spent at the condo, relaxing on the lanai, reading and napping. Dinner was hot dogs and potato chips and wine. A lovely non-Christmasy meal. Neither one of us felt like moving, dining out, or really cooking much, so it was perfect.

Here's my best whale shot (it's Timmy; wave back to him).

We leave Maui late tonight on a red eye flight. It's been a wonderful trip. We've completely explored both the big Island and Maui, went for long walks on the beach, spent two days on the beach and one poolside, been on a lava boat tour (and seeing molten lava pour into the sea is a must-see experience), had several fantastic meals, toured a tropical, botanical garden, a lavender farm and a goat farm (fantastic goat cheese! and newborn babies right as we arrived), gone wine tasting on each island, seen whales, and waterfalls, and gorgeous stretches of beaches and tropical LOST-like jungles; I read two books, wrote about 10 pages, took nearly 500 photographs, and finally, relaxed. Most importantly, I rarely thought about cancer and we never mentioned it. I've lost my compulsion to "explain" my hair to people (actually, it was great to have short hair on vacation) and when I wore my "survivor" t-shirt on Christmas day, even though it says "out-chemo, out-radiate, out-live" and there's the pink ribbon and all, the only comments I got were from people who assumed I meant the TV reality show. Huh. Maybe this BC odyssey really is over.

Onward to 2010!

(Christmas Eve dinner at Mama's Fish House).

Dreams of Normalcy, Pearls of Wisdom

So maybe my return to normal is going to take a little while. This was the first morning I was able to sleep in a bit and not have to go to radiation before work. Naturally that meant I tossed and turned all night and was pretty much wide awake at 6:30 in the morning. Still, I managed to have two cups of coffee while getting lost and wasting a lot of time on the internet (lots of interesting and crazy blogs out there, don't you think?).

I finally got moving, got showered, did my hair (I kid, I kid), and used the pretty new make-up that I bought yesterday on my little "spoil me" shopping spree. It looked great--and the eyelash primer and mascara made my lashes long enough to actually be seen. Nice. Until about 2 minutes later. When my eyes started burning. And squirting water. And burning. Did I mention burning? I had to wash my face and splash water into my eyes. Then after I dried my face, my eyes kept jetting water (or acid, I'm still not sure) so I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. Turns out one of my freshly manicured finger nails snagged and broke somewhere along the line. You know that delicate thin skin under your eyes? Yeah, turns out it's easily snagged by a broken fingernail. And also very sensitive! I'm sure I looked worse today than I have probably throughout radiation. Particularly since my right eye continue to drain and smear the rest of my re-applied make-up (not the new stuff). Nice. I'm no longer Cancer Dork. I'm just Dork. (Note to Stila make-up: turns out "genuine crushed pearls" in eye shadow, while very pretty, is a really, really bad idea.)

On a brighter note though, Chris had a dream last night. He started to tell me about the dream but once he got to the part where I was in the dream, I had a dire need to know something extremely important (or so it seemed). In the dream, did I have blonde hair or was I bald? Or lesbian chic? The whole question fascinated me (Chris was less fascinated). I don't remember any of my own dreams through this so I don't yet know what I look like in dreams.

Apparently, in Chris's dreams, I still have long blonde hair. I think that's good. He doesn't see me any differently now, not even sub-consciously. That's got to be good right? I'm not Cancer Girl in his dreams! I'm not even Radiation girl! I wonder if I'm still a dork?

This and That

It's summer, definitely summer. Over 100 degrees here today. I went to work for about 6 hours or so. Then I came home and Chris made shrimp tacos with an avocado, jalapeno, grilled corn and cabbage topping. And there was a nice rose' wine--perfect for a summer evening on the patio watching the sun go down. I love summer.

And on a summer evening like this, a little simple chatter seems appropriate. No traumatic cancer talk. No polls. No scary photos. Just pull up a chair (these are in Michelle Ouellette's fabulous backyard--you know the place where the the Cancer Survivor party will take place!!!), and I'll tell you a few things I've been meaning to share but didn't warrant their own blog post. In no particular order:

1) Now that I've pretty much lost all modesty when it comes to taking my top off, topless sunbathing is medically off-limits. Oh, the irony. (Seriously, I've got to medically flash so many people it's not even an issue anymore. It happens at least 6 times a week. You do the math.) So much for those French beaches next summer.

2) If I've done nothing else with this whole cancer thing, I have taught my friends how to be perfectly comfortable around a person with a serious illness. They're so comfortable they've returned to mocking me, relentlessly. And I'm thankful for that, if not just a little worried about how they might treat the next person they know who is diagnosed with something starting with a "C."

3) One of the reasons I gave up the wigs is that twice I caught the Britney wig in my car door when I got in the car and closed the door. There are no nerve endings with this hair, so I didn't notice the hair was caught. I'm wondering how it looked to folks to see long blonde hair streaming outside my car door as I drove to work. Imagine the blonde jokes.

4) My left foot is still numb on the left side. And my eyebrows are still itchy.

5) It's only just starting to dawn on me that it will be years--YEARS!!!--before I look the same, since it will take years for my hair to grow out. And then of course, I'll be older, so I won't look the same. And maybe too old for long hair (when is that age cut off?? Let's ask Cher.). So, weird, but I guess there really is no going back. This occurred to me because I had arranged for a photograph of my whole family at Christmas (yeah, yeah, the irony. Whatever.) and I'm only just now getting around to ordering the enlargements and sharing the proofs with everyone. (In my defense, in case you are unclear, cancer disrupted all of my plans). And I realize how very, very different I look in just six months. Okay, sure, Chris looks really different too, but he'll be able to cut his hair back to its usual look...in just about 6 more months. (By the way, Roryann--Chris's mother is NOT happy with you for orchestrating that!!)

6) The Inland Agency folks actually asked me to be the Honorary Chair of the March 29, 2010 Shop to Stop Breast Cancer event (check out their website by clicking HERE). Seriously. They knew better than to ask Cancer Dork to be the "Inspirational Chair." I like what they are doing (raising funds to pay for mammograms for women who couldn't otherwise get them--including young women), and hey, some good should come of this odyssey of mine, so I said yes. Let the fundraising begin! And it will--we're going to sell the Survivor T-shirts to start the ball rolling. Here's more on the Inland Agency event if you are interested in contributing, donating items for the shop, or, of course, shopping!! Click here--SHOP TO STOP BREAST CANCER.

That's it this evening. I hope you all had as nice of a weekend as I did.

Tomorrow is Chris's birthday. He'll be a beautiful 34. So tomorrow is, of course, all about him. As it should be. Chances are good there will not be a blog post. But you can always leave a comment wishing him a happy birthday. Or better yet, stop by his Forgotten Grapes site and send him a birthday toast. Just click here: FORGOTTEN GRAPES.

Part IV Begins

So that looks like fun doesn't it? That's not me (I don't have that much hair, remember) and that's not the breast being radiated (you do remember your biology don't you?) but the picture does sort of launch us into the mood for part IV of my cancer odyssey wherein I become Radiation Girl. If you're wondering why I say part IV, I break it down like this: diagnosis, surgery, chemo and then radiation. Believe me, getting to the diagnosis is it's own stage--do I need to remind you of the nightmare of trying to get a doctor's appointment, the ultrasound, the mammogram, the biopsy, the MRI? Yeah, it's its own stage.

Tomorrow I have my first appointment with the radiation oncologist. They told me it would take an hour to an hour and a half. Yeah, expect a long post to read on Thursday. I feel ready for the appointment, but in my mind (and I hope I'm not delusional) I'm not starting the actual radiation until after my weekend of debauchery (aka Memorial weekend).

As I head into phase IV, it occurs to me just how long this has all been going on. Almost 5 months now, from my very first doctor's appointment. I haven't really had time to stop and think about that. There's a way in which the time had gone quickly and there's a way in which it feels like a very long time that my life has been consumed by this battle. Today I went back to the very beginning of this blog, when I was first getting diagnosed and letting folks know, and I read for a little bit. Wow. What a long, long "journey" this has been. Reading it now, I can "hear" more fear than I thought I had originally. It's interesting to see how overwhelming the diagnosis (heck the very idea of cancer!) was then-- and now I feel like an expert on breast cancer. Not the medical part of it so much, but the practical aspects of dealing with all the diagnosis entails and all that goes on after. And I was also reminded how many of you have been reading this and commenting this whole time. Thank you all for that. It means a lot. And hang in there with me-- radiation is going to be a long haul too (6 or 7 more weeks).

I'm feeling pretty good by the way. I had a hideous hive breakout on my face last night, but I took two Benadryl, had a great night's sleep and it was almost all cleared up by the morning (but uh, yeah, I'm thankful for foundation and powder). Tomorrow is the end of my "danger zone" time. In my usual fashion I'm sure I will be expecting to instantly feel better and have more energy first thing Thursday morning. A girl can hope. We leave for La Jolla and a fabulous weekend Friday afternoon, so I'd like to feel good. Is that really so much to ask?

Oh, and it seems many of you found the photo of Chris and me (and my bald head) to be quite touching. I do too but I worried about posting it (and the other bald one). I decided though that really, it's cancer we're fighting...it can't really be a cancer blog or any kind of cancer narrative without showing the most obvious effect of the chemo. So, given where we are (Chris, me and all of you reading this) in this cancer odyssey, that's now the photo over to the right in the "information/ about me" section. Until we move on to the next stage---which I like to think of as the return to normal.

Split Ends, Loose Ends and Lands End

Day 9 of chemo. So tomorrow is the big day 10--the beginning of the "danger zone." The next stage of chemo watch, as we expect greater fatigue and susceptibility to infection. This whole next week should be interesting because of that and then of course, the hair loss should happen. I'm already starting to look for it. No signs yet, but it's early still. But here's a funny thing about that--I've run out of my favorite Kiehl's shampoo and I don't really feel like spending $25 on a new bottle that I'll use for oh, a week. I'm making do with random samples, odd bottles of shampoo I've tried and didn't like so didn't finish, that sort of thing. Same with styling products. I'm feeling a little like a bag lady...of course, one who gets really nice sample products at Nordstrom, but still. It occurs to me that it will be very strange to not need any of those things for like a year (how much styling can you do with an inch of hair??). And a blow dryer? Thing of the past! What will I do with all that spare time? I may become a morning person after all! And by morning I mean I may be able to make it into the office by 9a.m.

Okay, that was the split ends portion of the post (you got that right?). Now for some loose ends... I forgot one statistic back in the chemo Keno post. Women seem quite convinced that if breast cancer doesn't run in their family they don't have much to worry about. Uhhh....I have 6 aunts, a mom and an older sister all still alive and none have had breast cancer. Neither of my grandmothers had it either. It's actually only about 10% of the cases of breast cancer that are "genetic." The rest are as random as my posting topics. To quote Dr. David Chan (colleague of the great and good Dr. Karam and author of "Breast Cancer: Real Questions, Real Answers"):

"Contrary to popular belief, most breast cancer is not inherited. Eighty to eighty-five percent of newly diagnosed breast cancer patients do not have a direct relative who has had the disease. "

Have I mentioned lately the importance of self-exams and getting your mammogram? Go girls, go.

Another loose end. No, I don't speak French. I'm pathetically, disgustingly bad at it. We leave the french-speaking portion of the Words & Wine tours to Rachel and Raphael, both of whom are fluent in English and French. Whereas, after three years of french wine tours I still can't even say "wine" in french. They say it like "van" only elegant. I say it like "van" only like a Chevy. Chris is farily decent at it--he can at least order off the menus for us, but poor boy travels with me and no matter where I go (any country, anywhere) folks instantly speak English. They not only know I'm an American, they know I'm from California (I'm hoping the hair color change changes all this!). So while Chris wants to give it a try and practice his French, they basically demand I speak English and not destroy their beautiful language.

And now for Lands End! You guys were awesome at getting blog hits in some new states and a new country!! Shout out to step-mom Nancy for getting Japan lit up (um, on my Google map, she wasn't like, drinking with the whole country; I don't want to start rumors) and she got me the second hit from Indonesia (Stacey Aldstadt had already covered that once--but I'm liking two hits. I'm bigger in Bali than I am in Beirut now). We've also added Albuquerque, New Mexico; Omaha, Nebraska and Northville, Michigan (that's Nancy again...it ain't the ex). Those were new states. Now I'm looking for Montana, North Dakota, Wisconsin (hello Shackeltons??), Mississippi, and Alabama. This will cover the "outside" states of the US. Then we'll work on filling in some missing spots in the middle of the country. Oh, and Virginia checked in! But it wasn't my college roommate. Unless she's traveling....

And speaking of traveling...we are off to Beaglefest in the morning. Which may delay Chris's Hair Update. I'm sure you were all wondering and waiting. He'll probably post on Sunday. Unless Seamus wins "most melodic voice" and we're doing the press tour. There's always that.

Growin' It Out for Cancer

Hi Everybody, Chris here. Teresa was kind enough to turn over her blog to me tonight for this very special post. Basically she's tired and I'm giving her the night off. Hey, as exciting as our lives are and cancer is, you can't expect top-notch, hilarious, memorable material every night. That's why you're stuck with me instead...(rimshot)

So as you probably know (since you're reading this blog, and if you're not a registered follower, WHY AREN'T YOU A REGISTERED FOLLOWER YET???), Teresa has cancer. I know, big-time shocker! But her surgery was successful and now she's on to chemotherapy. Huzzah! Where as the oncologist said, she's GUARANTEED to lose her hair. GUARANTEED. (His emphasis, not mine).

Expecting this even before the surgery (apparently some of her pessimism is rubbing off on me), I did what any good boyfriend would do--I offered to shave off my hair in solidarity with her during her chemotherapy. I mean, if you're going to have one bald person in the family, why not two, right? Three, though, wasn't going to be an option. Seamus is far too reluctant to go the shaving route with us. He gets freaked out at the site of a Mach 3. Plus, apparently certain dogs actually need their coats to live. Who knew?

And as it turns out, though, Teresa was just as reluctant as Seamus to go through with my whole head-shaving scheme. She's always loved my thick, full head of hair ("Democrat hair," she calls it, as you probably already know from last night's post) and the last thing she wanted was for me to get rid of it when she lost hers. Christ, she nearly breaks down in tears whenever I get a regular haircut, and I usually end up keeping most of it then. Why have two bald people in the family when you only need one, she said? And who am I to argue? I mean, she has CANCER, for crying out loud! (and don't think she ever lets you forget it.)

Ergo the head-shaving/solidarity thing was right out.

So, we decided to go another way with it instead: instead of shaving my head in solidarity, I would grow out my hair during her chemo and radiation sessions. Less hair for her, more hair for me. She's Curly, I'm Larry and Moe. I get to look like Clinton, she gets to look like Jimmy Carville (and that's Hillary Clinton, for those scoring at home...that woman has quite a head of hair!)

Long story short, I had what may be my final haircut of 2009 (gulp! or at least until August gulp!) Saturday and decided that, much as Teresa is sharing her cancer-related experiences with you on this blog, I'll be sharing my hair growth with you as well. Remember, I'm doing this for cancer, so no, it's not just an excuse to get pretty pictures of me up on the internet. No matter what anyone tells you.

Once a month, we'll take pictures of me (and I'm sure you'll agree that I do photograph spectacularly) or more likely my hair and post them on the blog so you can see the progress my hair is making during Teresa's treatment. And don't worry, I'll save you the trouble of making the joke now: yes, this is going to be as much fun as watching hair grow.



As you can see from the baseline "before" photos at the top and the measurement photo just above, I had my stylist (okay, the woman at Supercuts) cut it fairly short to begin with, about 1 inch long on top at its longest point. And yes, those are gray hairs. Please don't flood our mailbox with bottles of Grecian Formula and Just For Men; I enjoy the salt-and-pepper look. It makes me look wizened and feel smarter than I actually am (like when hot chicks wear glasses, or anyone adopts a British accent).

So yes, get ready once a month to have new photos of my hair posted on the blog. I know: super exciting, right? But here's the thing: 1.) my hair grows really, really fast. Like Usain Bolt speed-of-sound fast, 2.) I think the longest I've ever gone without cutting my hair is 3 months--all told, this is going to be at least 6 months' of growth, possibly 7 or 8 or even longer (if I keep it up post-treatment while Teresa is still, well, shiny. We'll see. That will be a game time and psoriasis-related decision). I've never grown my hair out that long. I have no idea what's going to happen, and 3.) unlike most normal people whose hair grows down as it gets longer, mine doesn't. It grows up. And big. Like pompadour big. Like Del Shannon in 1957 big. Like Roman Centurion helmet big. Like Kid from Kid n' Play big (okay, maybe not that big). My running joke has always been that as my hair grows, it develops into a White Irish Afro (or Wifro, as I've coined it). Apparently we're going to find out what a full-on, full-blown Wifro finally looks like. And you too will get to see this unnatural phenomenon develop before your very eyes. It'll be like paying two bits to see the bearded lady or the six-toed man. Except this is free. And there's much less of a chance that you'll get molested by a carny...

Anyway, that's what I'm doing to support Teresa in her fight against cancer. I'm lettin' it grow. I'm growin' it out for cancer. And I hope you all enjoy and appreciate all the agony, misery, and increased expenditures on haircare products that I'm going to endure over these next 6-9 months. I'm doing it all for your amusement...Actually, scratch that. It's primarily for Teresa's amusement. And Seamus'. Because Seamus loves a good laugh at Food Guy whenever he can get it.

Oops, there goes my word count. The last thing I want is to be labeled as "wordy". There's not enough room for two of us like that on this blog.

See you all in March, everybody. Longer, shaggier, and substantially more democratier than before.

And may God have Mercy on my hair, and yours as well.

Yours in Dep,

Chris