Radiating Me

That's not me in the photo. You know how you can tell? Because he's wearing black socks. Oh, and because he's a man. But that is very much like the radiation machine that I'm spending intimate moments with every morning for the next five weeks. And that's the position I assume.

Here's how it's gone: Tuesday morning was the last day of the treatment "planning" sessions and what I call the "undress rehearsal." Not too big of a deal--just me practicing the "walk in, check in, grab a gown, strip down to the waist, throw on the gown, put clothes in the locker and report for duty in the waiting area with similarly attired folks" routine. Once the radiation nurse comes and gets me, she has me lay down on the "bed" that is very much like what you see here. The tricky part is that they manipulate you and move you around by pulling on the sheet underneath. It's hard not to lift up and let them pull the sheet out, but that's not the point of it. Once I was positioned they commenced with the artwork.

See the photo on the right? Yeah, that's not me either. Know how you know that? That's a left breast and as we all know by now "my" cancer was "right breast 10 o'clock." But that is a very good photo of the type of artwork they created on my body. Only my ink was purple. And they circled each of my little "freckle" tattoos. Luckily this drawing stuff was only done on the practice day and won't be done every day. Thank goodness, because the ink was difficult to get off and the office wasn't well prepared (or, prepared really at all) to help me get the ink off so I could get dressed and return to work without turning my top purple. She gave me little alcohol swabs--and by little I mean 1" by 1 1/2" --to dab at the ink in my dressing room but all that did is get it wet enough to smear it all over the place. Of course there was no tissue or paper towel available. (This will just be our little secret--I used the hospital gown to wipe it all off. Hey, they should have given me something reasonable to clean up with!!). I always get the feeling that I'm the only person who returns to work after treatments. How exactly does one get 6 months off for cancer treatments??? I don't understand why the treatment offices aren't more prepared to deal with things like, oh, I don't know, the fact that not everyone is headed home to a shower after their appointment?

Anyway, so on the undress rehearsal after the drawings are done they do a dry run of the radiation. But that's boring, so I'll tell you how the actual radiation this morning went. See the black and white photograph? That gives you a good idea of how the patient lies still and the machine moves around the patient. In my case though, my arms were above my head holding on to a little bar and of course, the right breast is exposed. The other thing you can tell from that photo is that it's a pretty big room. Once things are positioned everyone else clears out. The two nurses are kind enough to explain though that I am on camera and there is an intercom if I need them. These are slightly scary things to say right before they leave the room. Because for a moment I'm just lying there alone in this big room, partially naked, with this machine pointed at me and everyone else has fled to safety behind a very thick vault-like lead door and concrete walls. So naturally I'm thinking, why would I need them? Why a camera? Jeez, how serious is this?? Of course that's when the machine starts and the green rays become visible--across my chest. It's a little noisy and lasts maybe 10 or 15 seconds. Then the machine moves, shoots out another laser and radiates again for a short interval. This happened 4 times and basically the machine rotates from my left side around to my right--radiating the breast from different angles. And then, that's it. I didn't feel anything (physically; mentally it's a little weird). I was in and out in probably 20 minutes and most of that is the changing in and out of my clothes. I was in my office by 9:30.

The first few of these aren't going to be difficult. It's after the skin starts getting sore that it gets tougher. And the fatigue will come back after a few weeks as well. Right now, I'm just tired because I'm getting up earlier than normal and I haven't been sleeping well--which may be because the construction has started on my office expansion (yeah, I know, life isn't exciting enough right now) and there's a lot going on there too. Busy, busy times.

Several people have asked me, and you may be wondering, why I have to have radiation even though I had chemotherapy. The way it was explained to me was that the chemotherapy was to save my life; the radiation is to save my breast. Okay, fair enough. I'd like both of those things saved. I'll keep going back. And I'll keep you posted, of course.

PS. Remember to vote on the new poll on when Chris should cut his hair. And while you're at it, remember to check out Chris's latest Forgotten Grapes posting.

Growin' It Out for Cancer: Month 4

Yowza! That's some hair right there, ain't it? You'd have thought I'd just finished skating the third period against (and that's ah-gaynst, not uh-genst) Hamilton or Moose Jaw or Moncton with a coif like that. No, friends, that's just what my current 'do looks like after it's been gelled into place all day and I step out of a steamy, bubbling hot tub. Summer may be here already and Teresa's treatment may be nearing completion (yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!) but that doesn't mean the Growin' It Out For Cancer bandwagon slows down. Not as long as there isn't a single hair on her head...

Hi everyone. Chris here with another Growin' It Out For Cancer report, currently entering month 4. I know we forced you to wait a bit longer for this update than you've had to wait for the others (and judging by the amount of mail both Teresa and I have been receiving, you all are just chomping at the bit for another one of my hair posts), but believe me, it's well worth the wait.

As you can tell from this photo, we're inching closer (inching...get it?) to the mythical 3-inch mark, clearly the longest I have ever worn my hair. Honestly, some days I feel like Richard Marx when I'm brushing back my long, flowing locks after a shower. Other days, I feel like that homeless guy who lives under the Mission Inn Avenue overpass here in Riverside. It's the hair on the back of my neck that's really getting to me. That, and the hair falling down over my ears. Teresa says if I give it another half an inch, I'll be able to push my hair back behind my ears and slick it back like Sexy Ramon or my friend Frank Gutierrez, but I don't know. I don't think I'm swarthy or ethnic enough to pull off that kind of look (and all respect to both of those guys for being able to rock it and rock it well). I feel like if I slicked my hair back like that I have to start growing a goatee or a full beard, and to be quite honest, I just can't do that (not that I don't want to...I think I'm physically incapable of growing a thick, full beard or goatee. Honest, all the hair on my face is on my neck, and let's face it, neckbeard looks good on no man).

Fortunately, I may not have too much longer to suffer. Much like Big Brother when it sucked (first season...well, okay, that whole winter season debacle during the writers' strike was pretty heinous too) and American Idol (which in and of itself basically turned into a "who's hair do you like better" popularity contest), Teresa has elected to put the power in your hands. She's put up a poll which you can find to the right asking when you think I should finally get my hair cut. And don't worry; there will be pictures of that too (unless thanks to the Patriot Act, Homeland Security, the Smoot-Hawley Tariff, and Proposition 8 [ed. note: BOOOOOOOOOO!] Supercuts no longer allows you to bring cameras into their establishments). So please vote early and vote often. And might I suggest that you vote for sooner rather than later. Because the full force of this fully armed and operational White Irish Afro may eventually cause a shift in the earth's gravitational fields, rendering the moon off its orbit and sending the planet as we know it into horrible, burning, screaming, melting your flesh off catastrophe. Honestly, trust me, you don't want to see...

No, please, believe me, it's too much for you too handle.


No, seriously, I'm warning you. Stop. Turn back now. Before it's too late.


You really don't want to do this to yourself. Believe me. You've got to hear me. You're just going to...


Please...


Please...
















Okay, don't say I didn't warn you...















Behold and tremble before the WIFRO in all of its power

(Shut your eyes, Marion. Shut your eyes!)

The End of the Decadence

Even Seamus got in on the weekend of luxury, leisure and decadence (not the debauchery though, he wants to be clear about that). Why use just one pillow when you can have five?

My weekend of debauchery (i.e. my weekend with no medical/cancer/chemo/radiation restrictions) has come to a close. As a practical matter, it ended Monday morning. But it ended with a bang. I slept in until almost 9:30 and then Chris made us a fabulous breakfast (served in bed, of course)-- a prosciutto egg nest on a round of french bread, with sauteed mushrooms, scallions, creme fraiche and parsley baked in muffin cups. Fantastic!! See for yourselves.

But after breakfast I had to go into the office. Time for me to get back to work in a serious way. Plus, the painters were next door getting the new expanded office space painted up and looking good. After work I went shopping--for Radiation Girl supplies. Now you'd think that would be a cape, or a shield, or, you know, a stun gun or something. But no. Radiation girl needed bras with no under wires in them, aloe vera, and "natural" deodorant (no aluminum---who the heck knew deodorant had aluminum in it in the first freakin' place???). Since these are not things I want to spend much money on, I took a shot that Target would have all of the above, and they did. Unfortunately, they also had bathing suits, cute sundresses and t-shirts and what not. All of which made me realize that I'm basically missing summer this year. It will be August before I can go in the sun (I think; and I bet they scold me and try to banish this as well) and hence all that attire is out of the question. Summer is my favorite season. Followed by late spring--in Riverside. Followed by late spring--in the desert. In other words, hot. I like the weather hot. And I like to be by the pool, in the pool, in the sun, at the beach, and um, tan. Not ghostly gray. Ah well, that is not to be the case this year. I know, I know, it's only 6 weeks. And I will get a sunburn. On my right breast.

Tomorrow is undress rehearsal for radiation. I expect I will know more about the process then. I'll report in as always. Tuesday night's post however will likely be Chris's hair update--because it's getting a little out of control (watch for the new poll soon where you can all help decide when Chris should cut his hair). I'll post on the radiation after I've had the "real thing."

A little housekeeping for family & friends. Regarding the celebration of the end of all this--First there is a prize for whoever comes up with a name for this party;The POPC Boobie Bash worked for the first one, but this one is post operation, post chemo, post radiation and we hope, post cancer once and for all. Celebrating "The End"sounds a bit morbid. Second, the date has been moved to July 19th. (See countdown clock in the right corner? Cute huh?). We need a Sunday so the restaurant folks in my life can attend (I seem to know a lot of restaurant people...how can that be??) Chris, Roryann and Stacey are officially in charge (although Stacey may not know that yet!) and they'll follow up with details--like where it will be. Probably not at our place again due to all of those stairs which precluded attendance by some of my friends previously.

And finally, it has occurred to me once again that there are "telephone" people and there are "email" people. I'm definitely in the latter group. During the day I pretty much see clients and doctors and try to get my work done. Thus, my time for personal communication is morning (and I'm generally non-communicative in the mornings) and night (and I mean late; so other folks are generally non-communicative). This is why I love email. If I owe you a phone call, sorry, it will probably take awhile--especially as I head into daily radiation treatment. Now, if you just emailed me instead....

The Nose is Back!!

The weekend of debauchery is well under way. The hot tub is getting plenty of use and yesterday Chris and I participated in two back to back wine tastings. How's that for figuring out if I'm back in fighting shape? And the answer? Um...not so much.

The first wine tasting started out well enough. See how together and professional Chris and Brein look at the beginning of the Forgotten Grapes tasting at Omakase? We were tasting Viogniers, Roussannes and Marsannes. Nine bottles. One turned out to be corked, so we only actually tasted 8. Right. We were going slowly. See the digression in the photo of Rory and me? (We're kidding, of course).

The best thing I learned (besides that Cass Vineyard makes a pretty good Viognier! Check out Forgotten Grapes June 4th posting for more info) was that my pretty-darn-good-if-I-do-say-so-myself nose for wine scents is back. I believe I mentioned before that chemo gave me a really strong sense of smell for some reason. But not in a good way. I could smell bad scents really strongly and many smells made me a little queasy (a scented candle on my desk at home--not even lit--had to be hidden in a cabinet). But as of yesterday's tasting the nose had returned to normal and I was once again easily able to sniff out fabulous wine scents like cantaloupe, apricot danish, macadamia nuts, and lemon meringue pie. No, really. It was wonderful

Wine tasting number two was at Ciao Bella--summer wines and food pairings. Mmmmm. Tasty all around. Our dining/ drinking companions were ZEE BEARD, SUE MITCHELL, RORYANN CLEMENTS and Ciao Bella owner JULIE DEKORNE. Chef Ryan prepared a wonderful summer salad with melon, mint and prosciutto in a watermelon dressing, shrimp tacos with a mango relish and lime creme fraiche, and barbecued ribs (a delicious honey bbq sauce!). All were good, but the shrimp tacos were the decadence I was looking for. Wine pairings included prosseco, a Toad Hollow rose, a Lambrusco, a Now and Zen Alsatian white, and....um...others. At some point I lost track. You can see how that might happen right?

And the food and wine just kept coming--we moved outside to the patio eventually. Let's just say the debauchery continued and there was a general decline in behavior. I think these pictures explain it all.

We made it home safely, participated in more debauchery, and then I promptly fell asleep. At 9:30 pm. I don't think I've fallen asleep at 9:30 since....ever. But then I woke up at midnight. With a searing headache. And let's just say that when 9:30a.m rolled around...I was still in bed. Hmmm. I might not be back in fighting shape. But I sure had fun finding that out. Chris is now making us lunch (Bacon, lettuce and avocado sandwiches and milk...back to the basics folks). I expect a return to normal shortly. However, there may be far less decadence and debauchery today. Except for the hot tub. I will return to the hot tub. I just may be drinking milk.

Our Regular Programming has been Interrupted

The regular blog postings have been interrupted due to the following circumstances:

a) the end of chemo restrictions;
b) the presence of a fresh, clean, refilled jacuzzi tub;
c) Chris, and
d) a nicely chilled Qupe' Chardonnay.

Enough said.

The regular posting schedule will resume over the weekend of debauchery. Spelling and grammar may decline rapidly. For those of you locally, you can catch us live at Ciao Bella for the summer wine tasting Saturday from 3:30 to 6pm. Let the decadence begin!

(and the bottom picture is actually a quilt! That one's for my mom--who quilts, a lot like that actually.)

Tattoo Tuesday

I'm going to start with a pretty picture. That's ANDY and VALERIE ZUCKER, who hosted us for a very nice dinner Monday night as we closed out our long La Jolla weekend. Things to note in the photo: high chair, big glass of wine, baby monitor, big glass of wine. Now that's parenting done properly. (And yes, Andy wanted to have me over because I have less hair than he does). Valerie is also wearing the top she bought at the "Shop to Stop Breast Cancer" event. She just didn't, you know, buy it in time to stop mine.

So now on to the less pretty pictures. Today was the CT scan at the radiation oncologists and much to my surprise it was also tattoo day. Yep. I'm tattooed. I thought they'd be tattooing me with the "radiation alignment" points next Tuesday, but I was wrong.

It was an interesting appointment. I was at least able to figure out the parking (last time I parked in the parking lot and then had to walk all the way around the building and the ambulances to get to the entrance; the trick is to park on the street). I started the little routine I'll be doing each morning--check in with receptionist, head to the changing room, strip from the waist up, put on ever-so sexy hospital gown (open to the back), put belongings in the locker and take the key, wait in the little waiting room with other similarly attired people...and their spouses (and yeah, that's just weird; when I'm in my hospital gown I want other hospital gown people and medical personnel only please). I had a little time to get caught up on People magazine (8 babies? seriously? She had 8 babies?) and then the radiation tech came out and got me for my CT scan. I've never had one before.

Not surprisingly this involves me laying down on a table, exposing my already over-exposed breasts and then reaching up over my head to hold on to a bar while the doctor draws on me. Yeah, draws. With a marker. That's what you see in the photo (and yeah, the marker came off on my bra afterward; nice). Then the doctor leaves, the technician draws a little more and then--the tattoos! She said it would be like a bee sting. The middle one? That's quite a bee. For those of you with real tattoos that you actually chose to do, all I can say is wow. Really? Wow. And why??? The needle for these tattoos apparently goes deeper than with a "normal" tattoo (I didn't ask why; I assume it's to make it darker?). We'll see when I wash off all the marker, but I don't think these look like freckles. And did I mention I bled? From all three "tattoos"? I've been stung by a bee. It did not make me bleed. So, what you are looking at in the photo is all the accrued external damage from the treatment for cancer (after all, the cancer is, we hope, gone...so you aren't looking at that.) Top scar is from the sentinel lymph node surgery; the one just outside the bathing suit top is from the actual lumpectomy (and no, it won't show normally when I wear a swimsuit; I adjusted for the picture; and remember these scars are "only" four months old, so they'll look better eventually), one of the blue markers is also shown (it should go away soon) and then below in the cross shape is the markers for the tattoo and the middle dot is the tattoo. Here's a closer view on the left. I happen to have a mole right below where they did the tattoo so it's confusing, I know but there you have it. That's the tattoo on my right side, then there is one in the middle just below the breast bone, and of course one on the left. That's my alignment.

The CT scan itself wasn't much. They move you back and forth under the scanner tube and there's something spinning around me (scanning, presumably) that made me feel, oddly, that I was in a washing machine without water, or movement...so yeah, I don't know why that's what I thought. Not a big deal really. My appointment was at 10 and I was back in my office by 10:40. With just a few little bandaids over my new tattoos for my trouble

I get a blood test Thursday and my appointments are now set for the actual radiation. 9a.m every morning starting the Tuesday after Memorial day. So there we have it. I am officially no longer chemo girl. I am now Radiation Girl.

OH! And my assistant Michelle did the eyelash research for me. Apparently it's common that they fall out after the 4th or 5th round of chemo! Wow. Wish I had known that before. And it takes two months for them to grow back after chemo stops (so for me, that's two months from now). I'm pretty sure my eyebrows are giving up a few as well. Mid July really will be the end of all this. I should be done radiating, have some eyelashes and have about maybe an inch of hair. Super excited about all that. Aren't you?

NOW I look like a Cancer Patient??

On Sunday evening we went out for a walk on the beach. We've been lounging around, writing, relaxing and spending way too much time on our computers, so we decided a walk would be good. Of course, when that's the kind of day one has been having one does not really feel like getting all prettied up. And then throw in the fact that I have no hair and no eyelashes and well...yeah, I think this may be the most I've ever looked like a cancer patient out in public (save perhaps, the white blood cell crash day--but I had hair and eyelashes then, so I doubt anyone was thinking "cancer." (They were just thinking "RUN!! I don't want whatever she has!) Putting on a wig to go for a walk on the beach seems just stupid, as does false eyelashes, or really, any make-up. So here was my look. And yeah, people stared a little (or I was paranoid; either one). But it was so nice to be outside and at the beach that I really didn't care. Oh, and I'm wearing the "Feel Your Boobies" t-shirt under the "Beagles for Boobies" sweatshirt so people could either figure "breast cancer" or "breast fetish."

We're winding up our La Jolla weekend slowly. Heading to the village for lunch and a stroll around (love the art galleries down here) and then up to VALERIE AND ANDY ZUCKER'S home in Murrietta for dinner. I'm telling you this "Cancer Wins/ Cancer card" thing comes in really useful. This was a nice weekend away where mostly I didn't feel like Cancer Girl. Special thanks to SUSAN MEDEL for the use of her beautiful condo! Wonderful, relaxing, cozy place! I even got an outline of the possible "Everything I needed to know about cancer I learned from my dog" memoir done. Sort of. We'll see--it seems a bit overwhelming at this point. A blog is different than a memoir. I'm way less self conscious about the blog (for better or for worse!).

I'm hoping that this week at work can also be a highly productive week--never mind the CT scan Tuesday morning and the blood test again on Thursday. I signed a lease to expand my office to more than double its current size and my first associate will be starting with me in just about a month. (Under the circumstances, is this crazy or brave?? Discuss amongst yourselves.) I've got to get my practice kicked back into high gear!! Enough of this relaxing weekend stuff! Well, until next weekend and the weekend of no restrictions debauchery. By the way, don't you think that post-cancer treatment the prize should be one of these homes? Just one. Is that really so much to ask??

For My Writer Friends

Great website with a fun contest--you can win a free website design. Check out QueryTracker.net You post this on your website/ blog and leave a comment with the link to your post on their blog and voila', you're entered. Kinda like I just did. The QueryTracker blog gives more details (and that's where you leave your comments to enter).

This has absolutely nothing to do with cancer. Isn't that refreshing? It was for me.
Okay, now keep reading below and you'll be back to all the cancer stuff (although I'm doing a lovely job pretending cancer is no longer in my life for the weekend; after all, this was supposed to be a writing weekend for Chris and me).

Loving La Jolla

Chris and I have been in La Jolla since about 4pm Friday afternoon. I absolutely love it down here (San Diego, for those of you not familiar with Southern California). So I'm happy happy happy.The weather is nice--in the 70's--but there's that typical beach marine layer for most of the day. I suppose that's good since I'm not supposed to be in the sun. And frankly, we haven't had time. I seem to be feeling almost back to normal and my taste buds have returned. No more metallic taste. Which means...wine tastes good again. Really good. So we went to Bernini's Bistro Friday night (seafood stuffed prawns and asparagus risotto, with black cherry chocolate chip gelato for dessert; and an apparently bottomless glass of Viognier since the owner refilled it quite liberally without ever charging me; maybe he recognizes the scarf/chemo look!). Saturday we had a leisurely morning and then went to Azul's and met up with my college roommates. That's us--clockwise from upper left KATHY KARNES GARCES, MARTHA DORSEY, Yours Truly, and SUE GRALOW. Nice ocean view table we had, huh? Lunch was a ginger chicken salad and a nice Tavel Rose' wine. We couldn't remember exactly when we were all together last but it may have been at Kathy's baby shower-- her 13 year-old daughter and only child stopped by the table briefly to demonstrate just how long it had been!! We swore to do better and not wait for something like cancer to get us together again. We will at least get together 5 years from now to celebrate my officially being in remission; but Sue is in charge of getting us together earlier than that at her home in Murrietta so we can go wine tasting in Temecula (yeah, there's a theme here). Sue, it's in writing now, so you're "officially" on the hook. Although, I think perhaps the "I made it through the treatments" blow-out bash on July 18th might inspire them to visit Riverside.

After the 3 hour roommate lunch, I needed a nap (I'm not totally back to normal yet). Then we headed to downtown San Diego and the Wine & Culinary Center (theme? what theme?) to meet up with JOHN & CARRIE SCHUTZ and BARBARA ABEL for what else...wine. Oh, and put John in the camp of people who find my blog "wordy." What?? This from a man who is retired and spends most mornings on the computer and forwarding emails and awful lawyer and blonde jokes (there are no other kind). Wordy must be code for "boring." Huh. (Okay, maybe I see his point. Maybe another white blood cell crash will spice things up!).

Dinner at Morton's (got my steak fix, and a fabulous iceberg lettuce wedge smothered in bleu cheese and bacon!!) with John and Carrie, but I did have to switch to Pellegrino water...I have my limits still. You see where I didn't have time to blog? It takes hours to put together these wordy postings!! But now it's Sunday morning and we have nothing planned more stressful than lounging around, a walk on the beach and a little writing. Or a lot. It depends on our moods.

And speaking of writing... there was a clear winner on part one of the Epiphany poll. Seems you all think I'm most likely to have the "Good Friends and Good Wine are Good Enough" epiphany. And I tend to agree with you. 25 out of 54 votes went for that, with the "she will remain clueless and epiphany-less" coming in second with 16 votes. You were as unclear as I am about which epiphany I SHOULD have. The winner, by a little, tiny nose was "She should write that book and head out on an inspirational book/speaking tour reaching out to her pink clique of dark humor gals in her "Back Off People, I had Cancer!" black t-shirt" with 16 votes, but very close behind at 14 votes was "Good friends, good wine, good laughs are good enough, especially for a cancer (free) dork. (As a bonus, she'll also more easily recognize the aforementioned)." And in a close third place position with 13 votes, much to my horror, was "Her body is a temple and she should give up wine, eat right and start exercising religiously." I can't tell if 13 of you hate me or are just worried about me. Or maybe you just don't know me and thus don't know the impossibility of that statement. So, even though it was barely a winner, I like the idea a little bit (I am, at times, a writer after all. Yeah, yeah, a wordy one. What. Ever.) and I will see if I can outline a full memoir out of this blog and my notes, journal, etc. from when Seamus had cancer. The Dog Lived (and So Will I) isn't a bad title. Is it? I realize my dying might make for a more dramatic arc to the story (Last Lecture anyone?) but I'm not willing to sacrifice that much for my craft. Besides, that would make an "inspirational" speaking tour a little difficult. More difficult than me attempting to be inspirational even.

As a reward for those of you able to read all the way to the end of my wordy blog posts, I will leave you with this image in the travails of Cancer Dork. I mentioned that most of my eyelashes fell out. So yesterday I tried false eyelashes for the first time ever. In the end, it looked pretty normal and they were comfortable. But it takes some practice. And it became very obvious: Bald Head + Long Fake Eyelashes = Drag Queen.

In the Blink of an Eye

Quick quiz: Why is it good to know Michelle Obama wears fake eyelashes?
Answer: Because she's sophisticated, super cool and a trendsetter. Oh, and because my eyelashes fell out !!! Just when I thought the side effects were ending. I guess the poor guys hung on as long as they could, but they'd had enough. When I washed my face and took off the mascara, a whole lot of eyelashes came out too.

Not all of them, just enough to make me look really strange. On the left eye, the upper lashes from about the middle to the inside corner only have about 3 lashes left. On the right eye, several upper lashes came out randomly and just about all of the lower lashes. Mascara is useless, it just gives me like two long random lashes sticking out like mini horns. Not really a good look. In my preparing for chemo I bought fake eyelashes, so I suppose now I have to find them and then I have to figure out how to apply them. This will be good. That, or I'll just use more eyeliner and fake it. (Time to wear the "Back Off People, I have Cancer!!" shirt again.) Anyone know how long it takes to grow eyelashes?

In other news of my chemo appearance, I went to a business/ charity/ awards luncheon yesterday (The Athena Luncheon) wearing my red wig but otherwise looking like me. I thought. Almost nobody recognized me! Not even people who read the blog and have seen all the photos. I'm thinking had I just shown up bald they would have recognized me. But now I have this odd feeling that way too much of my identity is "blonde." Most people didn't recognize me until I talked (for those of you who read this but don't know me personally, I have a deep voice. Fairly recognizable I'm told. No, I don't smoke. Or drink whiskey. I just sound like I do). If I waved at someone from across the room or several feet away I got those half-hearted "are you waving to me and if so who are you?" waves in return. Now I'm thinking I'm going to go to more events in different wigs and just eavesdrop on conversations. I need a co-conspirator though, someone who can start the conversations going with great openers like "Did you hear Teresa has cancer? Don't we all hope it's terminal?" and see where it goes. You know, just for fun. Because that's fun, right?

And on a final note for this evening (must get downstairs for Chris's fettuccine in a sun-dried tomato Alfredo sauce with Italian sausage, and must-see TV--aka, The Office and 30 Rock!!), I had a wonderful lunch with my good friend (for 25 years now) JOHN GOODMAN on Monday. And he drove all the way down from Sebastopol. Okay, not just to see me, he had business down here. But he drove so he wouldn't be on a plane and thus wouldn't be sick when he saw me during my "danger zone" time. Sweet, huh? We got to talking about how folks handle crisis and basically how a crisis causes people to become more of what they already are (kinder, stronger, or, um, more self-absorbed, more of an emotional train wreck, etc. you get the point). And at one point, as I was going on ad nauseum (as I do) about people who had surprised me one way or another, John, who has had no shortage of life crises himself, said "Wow. I feel like you're giving your friends grades. I wonder how I did?" Which is just a really nice way of saying "Hey, Teresa, maybe be a little less judgmental of people!" For the record, if I were giving grades, John would get an A+, in part because of his tactful way of smacking me like that (and because you gotta hand it to someone who can still be straight up like that even when talking to chemo-girl, who totally deserved it). And he makes a good point. So later I got to thinking about what kind of grade my friends would give me. And I probably have a little work to do. Not quite an epiphany, but I think after going through this, I have a better idea how to respond to a friend in crisis. For what it's worth (or not), I'll share a little.

Lots of people say to me "If there is anything I can do, please call." Or some variation of that. It's hard to know how much people really mean that (because, um, I might be a little cynical). And, I find that hard to do--just pick up the phone and say "Can you X, Y or Z?" Unless I really really needed something, which didn't happen that often, I just can't do that. I think a lot of people are that way. Plus, with something like chemo, planning ahead is difficult, it really is a day to day thing. What I found really great(and I found that the authors of many of the cancer memoirs I read said the same thing) was when someone was specific and just jumped in. Like my Leadership Riverside gals who just said "We're bringing you dinner, pick a night" and then called on that night for my dinner request. Or all the many, many people who just sent a card or called or sent flowers or whatever, especially as time wore on (hey, I get it, I'm tired of this too!), just to say they were thinking of me and routing for me. I think I probably have fallen into the "if you ever need anything" group before--and I meant it. But I hope in the future I'll just figure out something nice to do and just do it. I hope I'll remember that the person in a crisis situation isn't really thinking about much more than getting through it. So, John, I'll do better in the future,I swear (although I hope you have no more life crises). Thanks for the kick in the seat! ;-) And the margarita.

Friday afternoon Chris and I are off for our long-awaited, much-anticipated long weekend in La Jolla, courtesy of SUSAN MEDEL!! Saturday we'll be having lunch with 3 of my my UCSB college roomies and their other halves. I haven't seen them in over 10 years, despite the fact that one lives in Murietta (about a 40 minute drive from me) and the other two are in San Diego (a two hour drive, but still, Chris and I are down there several times a year). Cancer does draw people together (even as it causes me to draw on eyelashes and perhaps eyebrows!). Should be a great weekend all around. And if my roommates don't recognize me, I'll be able to pretend it's because of the wig and my lack of eyelashes, and not at all because my weight is any different than it was in college, or my face is any more wrinkled. It's totally the wig.

(Oh, and yeah, that's the campus. We went to college there. And occasionally, we went to class there. The lower photo is where our apartment was--Del Playa in Isla Vista. Tough, tough times.)