Out on my Limbs

That's Meagan over there. Meagan was the last person I saw at the Rancho Cucamonga/Upland oncology place. That's because Meagan is the nurse who gives me the Neulasta white-blood cell building shot on the Friday following chemo. So this was Friday, May 1 at just about 4:45pm (notice it's empty again). Meagan was lots of fun (she always enjoyed and commented on my hair and fashion choices; I believe the "Britney, Bitch" and purple Cancer Vixen shirts scored the highest.) So we can't really blame Meagan for the effects of the shot afterward. She wouldn't have wanted me to suffer.

Notice there was no posting for two days? Wait...you noticed this right? You were worried? Okay, good. I was doing okay on Saturday morning, but by the afternoon the queasiness started. Saturday night was nothing but queasiness, serious nightsweats and a skull ache. I know, you're thinking "that's a headache, Teresa." But no, my skull hurt--like to the touch. Plus, I could hear my blood pulsing throughout my head, loudly. The Neulasta bone pain, which heretofore had really only been a "heavy limbs" feeling, was starting in my head (HA! They say it happens in the larger bones!). Sunday I actually had a client meeting in my office. Ironically, my clients are both doctors and their schedules are difficult, so we agreed to meet on a Sunday. Yeah, the Sunday after my chemo...what was I thinking? I was thinking "It's over!! I'll be fine. Must get back to work. Must earn living." I was okay for the meeting-- 2 1/2 hours, and I was tired but okay at the end. Until I got home. Then I just needed a nap and I had a pretty bad sore throat. By the time I woke up from the nap the bone pain had creeped out to my shoulders and down my back to my hips. Then once again I have the weird foot thing going on--especially in my left foot. The whole outer side of my left foot feels like I ripped a muscle. No cute high heels for me for a bit. [Plus, how cute would it be anyway, limping around going "ow, oh, ow, oww, ohh, ohh, oww" since the bones in my feet hurt too!]

So between the nightsweats (which have come on with a fierceness Tyra Banks would envy) and the bone pain, I wasn't exactly sitting at the computer typing away. I was hanging out in bed reading. Probably, I should have been in bed all day. But that's just not my style. Unless of course I wasn't sick. Then, I'd gladly hang out in bed all day. Isn't it funny how that works?

I'm headed into the office this Monday morning. Mostly, I think I'll be seated at my desk. And popping a lot of Tylenol. Tylenol is my new BFF.

The Fat Lady keeps Singing (Part II)

(For those of you who haven't checked out the blog since before April 30th, know that this is part two of the May 1st post. It will make more sense if you scroll down and read the one right before this first. Confusing, I know. But it's your fault for not checking in on me every single day).

When we left off, I was in the chair for chemo #4. And here were the suicidal beanie babies to guide me through the last one:
The one on the right is actually from my view, looking up from in my chair. It's a millennium angel...which I guess means she's been hanging out there for 9 years now. Hanging...get it? Arr.

The one on the left pretty much says it all. The bear's chest is embroidered with "It's Going to Be Okay." You know, as he hangs over a person getting infused with poison. Touching, isn't it?

There were actually 3 empty chairs in the room this time, so I had a selection. I chose the one in the back corner that I had described as "the suite" during my report on chemo #1. And while it was a little roomier, it also was way too close to an AC vent, and Chris kept having to move so they could get back to the files in the corner. Oh, and the chair was broken so the footrest didn't lock in place. We didn't discover all these problems until I was hooked up and well underway. I didn't miss my usual chair though--there was a woman sitting in it and she was barefoot. Her feet were dirty and this was really creeping me out. Eventually, she moved to the private room with the bed instead of a chair (I overheard that she'd been in the hospital during the week and was fairly weak; I felt a little bad about my feet concern). I was happy for her getting moved to the bed. I was also happy for me, I'm not going to lie. I hate dirty feet. It's just a thing I have.

Anyway, I get settled into the chair and the infusing starts (it's now 11:30), and I start sneezing. Not a lot, and again, there's the arctic air blowing directly overhead from the AC vent, so it's not surprising. But the whole room says "Bless You." Except Chris. Chris says "Yeah, we're just back from Mexico, but it's all okay." Luckily everyone had a good sense of humor and laughed. Because swine flu in a chemo patient? Not such a good thing.

The chemo itself was rather uneventful. Chris was able to run out and do an errand or two and pick himself up a real lunch. I wrote, had some lunch and did some reading, but I didn't sleep except for about 20 minutes. The whole thing lasted until just about 5:30. Chatty Cathy showed up around 2 for her appointment but they had messed up scheduling her and there wasn't enough time to give her the 4 hour chemo that day so they re-scheduled her for the next day. Psychologically, that's a tough one; you have to gear yourself up for chemo day (note my lack of sleep the night before) and the office really, really shouldn't do that to a person. Particularly annoying since when I left at 5:30 there was still a gentleman there that had 45 minutes to go. So they could have done Cathy's chemo as well.

I had seen people "graduate" from chemo before--the nurses and doctors give a "certificate" and take a picture of you with the graduation cap. Ummm....not so much for me. They couldn't find the cap or the camera and it was already after work hours. So no big fanfare. Marilyn and Nancy did hug me and tell me to stop by and say hi when I come back to see the doctor. I think I'll just send them cards of thanks--I'm not coming back to that doctor!

I will leave you with this, which was posted on the wall next to my chair in the corner (the parentheticals however are added by me (T) and Chris (C):

TOP TEN LESSONS FROM CANCER

1. Cancer does not equal death. (I'm pretty sure people have died from cancer. T.)
2. It's Okay for a grown man to cry. (And apparently required for a woman. T.)
3. Tomorrow does not stretch forever. (Chemo just feels like it does. T.)
4. Life is Precious. Each Day is a Gift. (why is that a cancer lesson--see number 1. T & C)
5. There are positive ways to deal with negative emotions. (say, a t-shirt that says "I have Cancer people, Back off!"?)
6. There is no such thing as false hope.
7. It's true: from adversity comes strength. (Given my life thus far, I should be approaching superwoman status.)
8. There is life with cancer and life after cancer. (again, I'm pretty sure people die from cancer. So, isn't the life after cancer a little dependent on your religious beliefs? This makes me wonder about #6 as well. T.)
9 It takes a community to be a victor. (But it only takes a surgeon to be a Victoria. -C. Yeah, that's all C.)
10 Laughter is truly therapeutic. (Finally, something we can agree on. C & T)

The Fat Lady Sings for Chemo (Part 1)

It's over. But I'm not really the fat lady. Turns out between chemo one and chemo four (last, final, done, never again chemo) I gained a whopping 1 1/2 pounds. Not too bad considering how I ate. Yeah, I wanted to be one of those people who lost 15 or 20 pounds on chemo--but since I didn't want to be and wasn't one of those people who were nauseous and vomiting all through treatment, that was probably unrealistic. Of all the things that happened to me on chemo, nausea and vomiting weren't on the list. (Aren't you happy to read that? I hope you aren't at your desk having lunch or some such; if you are, so sorry.) Oh, and "knock on wood" since technically, I have 2 to 3 more weeks of potential side effects.

So, fourth and final chemo is over. That's the traditional Seamus "good luck" photo. Outfit was chosen by the gifts received--mocha wrap from JIM and TRUDI KERN (these are absolutely perfect for chemo--one can adjust for arctic blast air conditioning, crazy unexpected hot flashes, uncomfortable chairs, and just about anything else without having to worry about sleeves disrupting the tubes and needles. I may have to add this to my helpful tips list); the head wrap was from GARY BERG and RICH GOLD, and I love it; there was also plenty of Biotene gum on hand now thanks to STACEY ALDSTADT and then recently JOHN VINEYARD! Nice surprises guys! And of course, lunch was packed by CHRIS KERN (my usual pbj sandwich, a banana, pretzels and chips, mixed nuts, a banana cream pudding, and fig newtons, along with a Gatorade. No, I didn't eat it all. This was an "emergency preparedness" package. We never know how long we are going to be there.).

So, prepare yourself for a long posting. This was an interesting day all in all. First, we were an hour late to my appointment. Yeah, an hour. Ooops. the first 1/2 hour of lateness was because I absolutely could not sleep the night before, so when I finally fell asleep the last thing I wanted to do was wake up and get out of bed. I kept pushing it figuring I could get ready in 45 minutes, 30 minutes, 15 minutes....yeah, not so much. I can't even get coffee in 15 minutes. Then we raced out the door, took Seamus to Shawna D. and then I realized that in my rush I had forgotten to take the anti-nausea steroids. And those are, you know, kinda important. We had to turn around and go back home. This goes to Chris's point after chemo #2. At #1 we were like parents expecting a first child--we did absolutely everything they told us to do and then some. Perfect, model patients. By #4, I'm barely remembering to get my blood test, forgeting vitamins and anti-oxidants, not exercising, and then forgetting the medication! I don't know too many people with 4 kids, but I imagine you get more relaxed by the time the fourth one rolls around and it's an altogether different experience (Laura B. and Monica W.--feel free to chime in here! You may be the only people I know with 4 kids!!).

Being late meant we had plenty of time waiting around in the exam room, me in my paper vest and Chris with camera and notes ready. So now I can share with you the types of notices that are in the exam room. We've laughed at these each time, but never had the time to copy them down. Until now. So, in case you wondered what sort of support groups were available and why I didn't go, here's the only two that were advertised all during my treatments.

1. "I Can Cope" Cancer Support Group.
1st & 3rd Weds. each month 10a.m-12pm.
For Adult Cancer patients, friends and family
Enhance the skills needed for self care
Understanding feelings and relationships
Discovering resources and Celebrating Life.

2. "Sharing Support Group for Young Women with Cancer"
(for women under 40)
7 to 8:30 pm Mondays
This addresses the special needs of women under 40 diagnosed with cancer, such as dating, raising small children and working will be addressed.

You see my issues here? In the first class, apparently these are adults without jobs. They meet at 10a.m? On a Wednesday? Whereas in the second they meet in the evening--so I guess the retirement age for people with cancer is 40. Wish somebody had told me that before. And in the first--if we're enhancing our skills for self care, why are our family and friends there? And why are "discovering resources" and "celebrating life" connected? I don't even want to think about the exercises for celebrating life. I'm betting there was hugging. And crying.

As for number 2, really? Dating is going to be an issue during this? I'm not thinking bald, sick and exhausted is a time for dating. Especially if you are also taking care of children and working! And note, the over 40 doesn't address the "special needs" such as working.

But there you have it, the support that was available to me...er, um, not me. Others.

Eventually Traci, the nice, competent nurse practitioner came in to see me. Note, not the doctor. We saw the doctor scurry down the hallway once, no doubt in an effort to avoid me and my annoying requests to actually speak to her. But that was the sole contact with her on my very last appointment with "her" (ever!!). So in one consultation and 4 chemo treatments, I saw the actual oncologist exactly twice. A grand total of, I'd say 30 minutes. And that's being generous, unlike the doctor herself.

My exam went fine and I was given the "all clear" to return to normal eating, drinking, jacuzzi'ing and other activities after three weeks. Hello, Memorial day weekend of debauchery!! I now switch to the radiation oncologist and all follow up care will be through Dr. Karam and Dr. Glaspy back at UCLA (home, sweet home!). So other than today's trip back for my Neulasta shot...I'm all done at Wilshire Oncology. The nurses and the nurse practitioner were great--and that's really who took care of me, so all in all I suppose it went well. The doctor however was so incredibly frustrating and cold and uncaring that it really made it a more difficult experience than was necessary. I can't say I'd recommend the place. Besides, she clearly has more patients than she can handle (which, I suppose explains why she doesn't handle them!). But here's a photo of me in the infusion room with the two wonderful nurses who did care for me and did a great job. That's Nancy on the left (2nd and 3rd chemo rounds--which means she's the one that got stuck with me for the allergic reaction/ closing down the place chemo; and she never lost her cool or her sense of humor) and Marilyn on the right (1st and 4th chemos; Marilyn is a breast cancer survivor herself and extremely kind and caring--she even called to check in on me after my first round!). Notice we were even color coordinated?

This is perhaps an even longer post than I expected (have I mentioned the steroid high I've been on?) . And I've got to get some lunch and Chris and I (and Seamus) have to head back to Rancho Cuc for the Neulasta bone shot. All of which means...this will be done in two parts. I'll finish this up later. Really, it'll be worth it. I haven't even got to the part where the "Top Ten Lessons from Cancer" were displayed in my chemo area. Or the part where Chris "entertained" fellow chemo recipients with swine flu jokes. See, I bet you can't wait. I'll get it posted later tonight.

The Day Before "The Day"

I should be pretty happy about the final chemo tomorrow, and I have moments where that's true. But I'm not feeling good today, so it's hard to "look forward" to chemotherapy. I'll look forward to being done with it, which requires me to ignore the fact that I'm about to feel like crap again for a few days. Oh, wait, I already feel like crap. Huh. Okay, so I look forward to nothing changing, two weeks going by and voila! I'm through with chemo. Mostly. I hope to learn tomorrow when I can go back to normal--as in, go back in the jacuzzi, eat sushi, eat mushrooms, strawberries and all other sorts of "dangerous" foods. And how long before the energy returns? Inquiring mind needs to know. And I have to say, I have great admiration for folks who've gone through chemo for months on end. This will be my fourth treatment--and that's a short cycle. Many folks have to do 6 or 8 or even more (and in times past, even more was common; science has moved ahead and they find so many chemos are not necessary). I'm pretty sure whatever positive attitude I've managed to muster would completely evaporate if I thought I had 6 or 9or 12 more weeks of this. No, thank you.

So because I'm not feeling well, I'm going to bed early and not doing much blogging. I'm sure there will be plenty to say post-chemo. Any bets on whether I even see the doctor tomorrow?

(Don't forget to scroll down and vote on the TWO polls on the right. I find the results so far extremely interesting!)

The 100th Post!

I'm a little shocked...and possibly embarrassed...that this is my 100th post! Kinda talking your ears off aren't I? (Or is it typing your eyes out...no, that can't be right....)Well, thanks for hanging in there with me. And in other milestones...with the help of reader comments, I have come to the conclusion that it isn't wine that is causing hives (more on how I know this in a moment). Clearly what's causing the hives is the chemo. Therefore, I'm giving up chemo. After Thursday there will be no more chemo in my life. Ever. It's a brilliant solution. Also, I understand that giving up chemo cures baldness. This is going to be awesome. I'm so glad I thought of it.

So how do I know it wasn't the wine? The weekend of course! I've been so tired (um, yeah, that might also be the weekend) I forgot to tell you all about the fun-filled busy weekend. Saturday night was our dinner with Dr. Karam at Omakase...so basically blog Break-out stars #1, #2 and #4 (sadly, Seamus aka Blogbos #3 was not able to join us; he's still howling about that) were all together in one place. Yes, the place had to be cordoned off with red velvet ropes and the paparazzi was barely kept at bay. And just to arrive, poor Dr. Karam spent nearly 3 hours in his car (a Prius!! ) to get out to Riverside. No, he doesn't live in Santa Barbara, he just got caught in some awful traffic on the 60 freeway. And yet he didn't give up and turn around. What a guy. Luckily the dinner at Omakase was more than worth it. He said he couldn't decide which was better the food or the wine. I suggested maybe it would be the company but he said no, definitely the food or the wine. (We kid. We kid.)

Dinner was fabulous and chef Brien does some just incredible wine pairings so there's no way I could not have a glass of wine. And maybe a sip or two of some of the pairings that went with Chris's dinner. No bad reactions. No hives. This may only mean that in the third week after chemo I can have wine, but hey, that's a start. We finished our evening with a nightcap at Mario's listening to some jazz. We had to make sure his visit was at least as long as the drive out. Oh, and I was a brunette for the evening (photo above). Dr. Karam claims he has emailed friends about the fabulous dinner he had in Riverside (that echo you hear is his friends collectively shouting "In Riverside????" Yes people. In Riverside, California. Omakase. Don't forget it.

We made it to the Festival of Books in time to see and hear TC Boyle (a favorite author) at 11. We also saw a panel on Fiction and Humor, which sadly was nearly ruined by a really crappy moderator who thought she was funny (and she was so, so wrong). But at any rate, Chris and I got to see our old writing instructor, Tod Goldberg, who is basically responsible for our meeting. We even met up with Dr. Karam again (so now we can probably call him Amer; until he puts that white coat on again) to roam the aisles of booths of books and books and books. Yep, two days of hanging with the good doctor and I never had to take my top off! I must be getting to the end of this cancer thing.

I only rested a little at Chris's sister Kati's very cute Beverly Hills apartment (there was Real Housewives of New York to watch!) before we headed out to meet the rest of his family for dinner. Great dinner (gnocchi gorgonzola...mmmmmm) and again I tested the "wine does not cause hives" theory to great success (albeit in moderation). But in hindsight, I can see that schedule was perhaps a bit much. I've been pretty tired these past two days. I think I may have now gotten enough rest.

Which is a good thing, since I had the blood test today which is the official start of chemo week. Tomorrow is the steroids. Then of course Thursday is the last, the final, the never to be experienced again chemo. Fingers crossed it goes as well as this last one. A little queasiness, a little weight gain (okay, 3 maybe 4 pounds...see gorgonzola gnocchi above)--that much I can handle. And speaking of weight gain, we're headed to Pizzaioli tomorrow night for a pre-chemo wine dinner. I won't be having wine (the night before chemo, even I can figure out that's a bad idea!) but I will be carb-loading in preparation! Chris will handle the wine portion of the evening. Look, if you ever have to go through chemo....I highly recommend eaiting and drinking well throughout. It's getting me through.

(PS...Seamus is feeling better. As anticipated, the hard part is keeping him from running around like a maniac and re-injuring himself.)

A Monday

That about sums up today. It was a Monday. The morning started with Chris picking up Seamus from Ruff House and bringing him back home. As I'm petting Seamus and giving him some love, he starts howling his head off, clearly in pain, and sits down, awkwardly but he won't get up for awhile. The back/hip problem is clearly worse. We get a vet appointment at 3:15, but our usual wonderful Dr. Davis is on vacation. I head into the office and have a perfectly crappy morning in the office arguing with stupid people on behalf of clients (said stupid people work for the government and again this causes me to fear for us all). Lunch appointment at 11:30. Person I'm having lunch with shows up at 12:30. Back to the office for more annoying phone calls. Leave at 2:40 to race home to pick up Chris and Seamus then back to my office so I can make a 3 o'clock conference call and Chris can take Seamus to the vet. (We have only one car currently--Chris's is in need of some attention, which it will get on Tuesday; Seamus took priority.) My 3 o'clock conference call never called.

Seamus's x-rays show a little hip dysplasia, but they think he probably injured it and needs to rest. No stairs. No jumping. This is nearly impossible to accomplish because 1) he's a beagle and 2) our house is multi-leveled and has stairs pretty much everywhere. He now has anti-inflammatory medicine as well, and judging by the effects of the first one, it makes him feel like he can run up and down stairs...until he can't. And Seamus hates to be picked up (he hates not being in control actually), so this carrying him up and down the stairs is going to be interesting.

At any rate, our evening at least went well. Brein and Roryann came over for the Forgotten Grapes wine tasting and brought some fabulous food. That helped a lot. I think it helped Seamus too. But, I couldn't even stay awake for the whole thing. I took a nap when they first got here (my usual nap when I get home from work) but was not too successful. Then around 9 o'clock I had to lay down on the couch and nap again (not a very good hostess, but they were understanding). So I guess with the compromised immune system comes the compromised ability to deal with stress. I blame the government. At any rate, this was a long way of saying I'm also too tired now for much of a blog post. Sorry. The next one will have to be special though. It will be the 100th post! See you then.

Confusing 2-Part Poll

So I guess I am wordy. There is a new poll and it is a two-parter. It's on the right and you have to scroll down a bit. But note there are two polls--they look similar but there is a key difference. The first poll is what epiphany I'm likely to have and the second one, right below it....is what epiphany I should have. Big difference. Some of you only voted on the first. Scroll down. Vote on the second. I need encouragement toward an epiphany!

We will return to regular posting tonight.

Stubble!!!

Never has a girl been so excited to have stubble on her legs!! Or to have her boyfriend point it out to her. So last night Chris and I and Seamus are on the couch watching a movie in our usual position (Seamus snuggled down between us, my legs across Chris's lap, Chris with one arm around me and Seamus and the other hand on my legs...or holding a drink. Sometimes both). And suddenly Chris says, "You have stubble!" What? Huh? Alert the media! That would mean hair!! Or the start of hair. Now it wasn't a lot, and it's on my legs, not my head, but it's stubble! After 6 weeks of hairlessness, this is rather amazing. And sure, it's likely to fall right back out next week after chemo #4, but how exciting to know there's hair under there just dying to make a comeback! I find this inspiring. Like the moment chemo #4 wears off, the hair growing will begin in earnest. My bald days are numbered. Which means I really need to do a bald photo soon, for all posterity. After all, I really don't plan on doing this again.

I did make it to a full week of feeling good and working. Felt very, very good to accomplish that. Seamus is also feeling better. Seems he pulled a muscle or something in his back. He gets a bit better every day. And last night Chris and I made our plans and reservations for 1) La Jolla/ San Diego in May, 2) an estate planning/work conference in Chicago in August (with a few extra play days), and 3) The big island of Hawaii and Maui December 15 to 26th! I will admit I bought the travel protection plan in a bit of caution over the August trip. I finish up radiation in mid-July and we'd leave August 1st...so I'm cautiously optimistic. Really looking at that bright, shiny light at the end of the tunnel (no train jokes, please).

This will probably be the only post this weekend. We've got dinner with the great and good Dr. Karam at Omakase tonight and the LA times Festival of Books tomorrow, followed by dinner with Chris's family for his sister Courtney's 25th birthday celebration. Luckily, we can go to his sister Kati's apartment between events so I can nap (only way that schedule would work!). But this will leave no time for blogging. So, just to tide you over, a new poll has been posted--look over to the side bar. It's even a two-parter. This should keep you contemplating all weekend. But don't worry, I'm sure I'll have plenty to report by Monday night. And next week is "chemo week"--the blood tests, meds prep, final chemo and aftermath week. So you know there will be some serious blogging then. Let's all rest up.

P.S. The picture? Come on, the dude has stubble!

I May Have the Hang of This

This week (if all goes well tomorrow), I believe, will be the first week since the start of chemo, that I was able to put in 5 eight hour days of work with no naps, no doctor's appointments, no medical emergencies, no blood tests, no phone calls with nurses, no special foods, no metallic taste in my mouth, and no pharmacy visits. Plus, I wore the same (red) wig the entire week and thus did not need to explain "chemo" or "cancer" or pretty much anything to anyone. I just got to go about my normal days, feeling darn close to normal. Other than the feet thing, and of course the bald thing (but it's not like I'm the one looking at me all day or night), and the fact that I'm reading a breast cancer memoir, there isn't much that reminds me of my status as "breast cancer patient." I was so much not thinking about my patient status that I only just tonight remembered to make my blood test appointment at my favorite hidden Quest Diagnostics location. I'm all set for Tuesday. Okay, the fact that I can't drink wine which really pisses me off, does remind me of the chemo/cancer status, but that's only an issue when I come home from work and Chris has made some fine meal that really needs wine with it, or just, you know, when it's evening and I want a glass of wine. So anyway, I think I'm getting the hang of this chemo thing. Just in time for my last round. Now only 6 days away.

And in great anticipation of that milestone, Chris and I started planning our mini-vacation in San Diego/ La Jolla (now May 15th to 20th) and our huge/gigantic/ cannot wait for it/ lounging on the beach sipping umbrella drinks and ignoring Christmas Maui vacation. A friend and client was spectacularly kind enough to give us a week at their ocean-front condo December 20th to 27th, so that really got the planning going. We're considering a few days on the big island ahead of time--it's way cheaper to fly out on December 15th or earlier, as it turns out. So hey, we're up for a few extra days. As we're planning it I keep saying stupid things like "yeah, but I'm supposed to stay out of the sun" or "what if I don't have the energy to walk up to see the volcano?" And Chris has to remind me that come December, I'm no longer "cancer person."(Of course, that still leaves the second question entirely relevant.) So an odd dichotomy there--it's not on my mind all the time, but apparently my status as "cancer/chemo person" is now ingrained. I can't quite see the end yet. But it's true. It will be over then! I will even have hair at that point. Short, darker and probably curlier hair, but hair! Did I mention I can't wait for this trip?

So yes, I'm looking ahead. Planning some things. Focusing past last chemo and over radiation (not wanting to think about that yet. One thing at a time.) It's helping.

Oh, and Seamus is feeling better today too. And that of course, makes me feel much, much better.

10 to 15 Years

Two different people, who didn't know I'm in chemotherapy and therefore, actually bald, have told me I look "10 to 15 years younger" in this particular look. So I figured it was time to show you my "day to day" look--since I've really only posted the fun looks (all hail Britney, bitch). And yes, I had bangs cut into the wig (it's the same one you voted on, only now with bangs). I couldn't tolerate the fishing line like hairs in my face all day. The handy thing about wigs is I can make the bangs as long or as short as I want (within reason) by moving the wig forward or back on my head. I usually start out with the whole sultry, wispy bangs down in my eyes look and by the end of the day (when this photo was taken) I've pushed it back on my head to get it out of my eyes. I don't really think I look younger. In fact at times I think it's sort of a "mom" look. Not necessarily my mom, although she did have red hair for most of my childhood and this is probably the most I've ever looked like her. Just a more conservative "mom in the burbs" look. And speaking of the burbs...the picture was taken on the balcony off our bedroom. A nice burb to live in.

I still felt fine today. I even worked until after 6pm. The feet were a little better. Perhaps because I wore sensible flat shoes (still cute; adorable Coach ballet flats) and then followed Doctor Dad's orders and soaked my feet in cold water and then elevated them for a bit when I got home. Seems to have helped. That and I'm distracted from my own health issues by the fact that Seamus clearly isn't feeling well. He was waiting for me at the gate when I got home...all sad and moving slowly (which almost never happens with a beagle). He took a nap with me but was slow to get off the bed and then yelped when he jumped up on the couch with me later. I think he injured something (back possibly) so we're letting him rest and see what it looks like in the morning. I've tried to feel around and he let me without any more yelping or wincing, so I can't really figure out what's hurting him. He's awfully cuddly/needy though. Currently, he is sleeping soundly in his own bed, snoring up a marching band's worth of noise and I'm hoping that's a good thing. Poor Chris. Too many patients in the house. (Oooh, good place to remind you to check out the new Forgotten Grapes posting on Thursday!!)

Thursday marks the one week countdown to the last chemo!! While I'll be happy to be through with that and moving on, I'm mostly looking forward to getting 3 weeks past that--I will consider that the true end of chemo and all of its crazy side effects. Hence the planned trip to San Diego for a quick getaway celebration. The plans for Memorial Day weekend aren't really working out, so it may be the weekend before. Hard to say right now. But we're going!! Break #1 will be in May one way or another. I need something happy and distracting between chemo and radiation. Especially now that I've learned more about radiation. (Let's just say there should be some exciting blog posts during radiation...but probably not too many photos).

And on a final note, the Biotene Gum Fairy was indeed STACEY ALDSTADT. She's leaving on vacation and probably worried about me still driving all over town looking for gum. So she handled it. Gum online. Who knew?