Blog--aversary

I finally got around to changing up the blog a bit. But, um, this yellow bowl of sunshine-y confection is not going to stay. I was playing, and then I ran out of energy. So Big Miss Sunshine it is right now. (That photo was taken on the day I started chemo. Oddly, it's one of the few I have of Seamus and I together during the cancer-go-round. Note to self: get new picture with Seamus. Not surprisingly, I have 5,672 photos of Chris and Seamus.)

But it's sort of appropriate that the blog looks like a giant birthday cake. Because tomorrow (the 17th) is my birthday and today is a blog-aversary of sorts. I actually started the blog on January 12, 2009. So technically, it was a year old back then. But that was also the anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis so the blog anniversary gets lost in that shuffle. Besides, I didn't have Google Analytics on January 12th. Nope, I didn't start obsessing over blog stats through Google Analytics until February 16th, 2009. So here's what Google tells me about my year in blog-land:

There have been 16,192 visits (these are different than "hits"; I don't know how except that one is less violent)

There were 6,874 "unique visitors" (I don't know what that says about the rest of you)

Page views totaled 24,305

And the average time spent on the blog was 2 minutes and 23 seconds (which means you are really fast readers!)

Visitors came from 118 countries

All 50 US states plus the District of Columbia eventually checked in for a visit.

The top 5 search words or phrases used to find the blog included some variation of "the dog lived," but number 6 was "Dr Karam UCLA." Number 7 was "butterflies" (mentioned a grand total of 1 time on my blog), and my own name was a distant number 10.

The blog that sent the most traffic over to my blog was qcreport.blogspot.com.  

Not coincidentally, the highest number of visitors to the blog in one day (at least that Google recorded) was 107...and that was the day (July 20, 2009) I posted the interview with Quinn Cummings of qcreport.blogspot.com about her book, Notes from the Underwire (which is very good and very funny). The next highest was 88 on Friday, March 20th which was the day after my second chemo treatment when presumably you were all checking in to see if we'd have a repeat of the horrific white blood cell crash that followed the first chemo.(I disappointed you. Unless of course, you were actually hoping that I was okay post-chemo)

What Google calls the "top landing page" was the Butterflies and Blogs post. This makes me think a lot of 9 year old girls spend time doing google searches. With this knowledge you can fully expect a blog post called "Unicorns and Rainbows" very, very soon. No, wait. This blog is not appropriate for 9 year old girls. Never mind.

Google Analytics gives me a whole lot of other information, but frankly, I have no idea what it means. Oh, and I have google ads on the site and that has earned me $24.05. Well, it will once Google mails me a check (and I think I have to earn $100 before that happens. I'm going to keep my day job.).

I'm pretty sure none of those stats matter (but aren't you glad I bored you with them?). The blog was an important part of my process in dealing with the whole breast cancer odyssey. And I'm kind of attached to it, even if we are having issues right now.

Happy Blog-aversary to all of you who've been reading along with me. Thanks!

(P.S. Apparently there's been some confusion once again about leaving comments. I believe if you click on the word "comments" below this post--it may or may not have a number in front of it, such as "2 comments"--you will get a pop-up window which will show you the comments made and there will be a box where you can type in your comments. And there's a test to make sure you aren't sending spam. Because I want all discussion of prescription drugs and singles websites to come from me and me only).

Keep on Bloggin'

This post is not about the Survivor party, but I'll throw in a few random party people photos just to keep your attention. That's me with my pink-shirt BFF STACEY ALDSTADT (who made 14 tons of ice cream--including my all time favorite peach!!--for the party). I do have enough hair now that I run around without any head covering of any sort, but as I mentioned it was 106 degrees out so a hat was in order. And if you're going to wear a hat, you may as well wear a HAT!

Thanks for the voting on when the blog should die a natural death. Seems most of you said "when there is nothing left to say about cancer." Which is very nice of you. Then it occurred to me, finally, you aren't exactly a captive audience anyway (and probably some of you didn't vote on when it should end because I didn't give the "three weeks ago" option). You can stop reading whenever you like and I could keep blogging even if I was only talking to myself. So perhaps there isn't such a thing as a natural death of a blog. Or there is but it might be a different time for you than it is for me. Or something crazy and meta like that. But here's the thing--I'm not quite ready to stop. I've still got check-ups and all that sort of ongoing business and while I ramble through these postings, it sometimes actually helps me process all that goes on. So there. (photo on the right is me, Teresa 2 --also a breast cancer survivor!, BARB ABEL, and of course, the good and great and tattooed DR. AMER KARAM; still paying attention?)

But then today, a really valid reason to keep going presented itself! I met with the lovely ladies from Inland Agency's Women's Health Initiative (BECKY FOREMAN, JODEE PALMER and ROSA OLAIZ). Besides being able to give them $330 from the Survivor t-shirt sales at the party, I was able to learn about their plans for the much-needed, long-awaited Breast Cancer Resource Center in Riverside and San Bernardino Counties. They have a physical location and hope to soon run a center that provides information, support, books, publications, wigs, scarves, prosthesis, lymphedema sleeves, education and outreach and basically allllllllllllll the stuff a woman may need when first diagnosed with breast cancer and throughout treatment. Fantastic!! I can't over emphasize how much this is needed here. I marvel at what UCLA has in this regard, but I also realize not everyone can drive to UCLA. There's a great resource center called Michelle's Place in Temecula (about 30 miles south of here) that does great work, but we need another center in our vast two county area.

(photo is Jayden Pierce rockin' the pirate look in a feeble attempt to hide the fact that I'm kickin' his Pampered butt in the hair growing contest!!)

So, I'm going to help (of course I am!). And you are too (of course you are!!). I offered to help put together an advisory committee to focus on exactly what a breast cancer patient needs throughout treatment and beyond (you know, besides a blog!) and then of course where we can get those things. I'll be calling on my local friends who've "been there done that" either themselves or in support of a loved one. [But hey, you know who you are, save me a call and just email me that you'd love to be involved (not a lifetime commitment here; just a few meetings and I promise good wine)].

For those of you who aren't local or can't be involved at the committee level, email me or leave a comment with your thoughts on what would make for a great resource center. What did you want to know? What things did you need? What resource did you find that was particularly helpful to you? What works? What doesn't work? Speak up! I want to hear from you. I'll give you an example--I had a heck of a time organizing all the paperwork and keeping track of everything I needed to know, test results, phone numbers, doctors information, prescriptions, and all that crap. About halfway through treatment my new friend and fellow survivor URSULA VUCCI-GIGLIA sent me a fantastic Breast Cancer 101 "Basics for the Diagnosed" organizer! Super useful. And it would have been even more useful had I known about it from the beginning (she sent it in response to my complaints on the blog!). Little things like that make a difference. So give me your ideas and experiences and help make this resource center happen (a lot of women will thank you later; I'll thank you now!).
(photo is COURTNEY KERN, SUSAN SANTOS, and KATI KERN--Chris's sisters and aunt; in the background is RINA GONZALES...but I don't know the boys she's with; I'm guessing they were there celebrating Michelle's birthday!)

I'll likely have much to blog about in this new endeavor. I'm also the honorary chair of the 2010 Shop to Stop Breast Cancer which raises funds for the Resource Center and breast health programs (including mammograms for the uninsured and underinsured). We'll have so much to chat about.

The Dog Lived. I lived. The Blog Lives!!!


P.S.
(photo is KRIS DEGREZIA and NANCY MCELHANNON)(Hot folks having a hot time!)

Too Cool For School

It's Friday night.

My friends' Facebook status's are all about the fantastic food they are preparing for Sunday's Survivor party.

Chris is in the kitchen making BLT sandwiches.

My step-brother Michael flies in from Portland, OR tomorrow morning. My friend Lori arrives from Colorado later in the evening. Jane, Gary and Rich all arrive from the Bay area Sunday morning.

RSVPs to the party have topped 100 and friends are arriving from all over the place.

And this morning Seamus decided to dress himself (yes, he did this himself--by rolling around on top of a pile of laundry) in what shall hence forth be known as a "B*&#h Beater" tank top (Hey!! He's a dog!!! It makes total sense).

I'm a Survivor. And life is good.

This time tomorrow

This time tomorrow morning (call it 10ish as I type this) I will be all through with radiation treatments. Which means I will be all through with the big three cancer treatments--slash, poison and burn as Stephanie puts it on Bah! to Cancer. Yeah, I've got follow ups, and tests to be sure the cancer is all gone, and all that, but in my mind, I'm done with being a cancer patient. I'm a former cancer patient. Just like Seamus (you know, the Famous beagle).

I have to admit, I may have a little Stockholm syndrome. One starts to get in the habit of being a "patient." Plus I've met so many great people on this odyssey and have gotten quite use to the wonderfully kind, caring and fun folks who work at Vantage Oncology that I may--may--actually miss it. I have a follow up with them in a month, but that's different. So how weird is that? I may miss my treatment schedule! See what I mean--Stockholm syndrome!! Luckily, I'm returning to UCLA and Dr. Karam next week.

My post-treatment day tomorrow hit a snag. Laureen (something about a bounce house and forgetting that her age is actually different than her children's) went and twisted, tweaked and darn near broke her ankle such that she can't be walking around shopping, can't get a pedicure and basically can't be decadent with me (yeah, that's her ankle...or should I say "cankle"; and yeah, it's worse than my swollen chemo foot). So I opted to cancel our spa reservations (we'll do a raincheck in August, I think). I thought about just going into work and going about my day--after all I have the Survivor party bash on Sunday and that will be more than enough celebration. But then, I think tomorrow I'm going to be pretty excited when I actually finish. Just that moment when I get to say "I made it. I did it!"--it seems like I probably won't want to then just go to my office and draft an eighty page trust for someone. Instead, I'm still having breakfast with my blue gown BFF, and then I'm headed out to get more Survivor t-shirts. After that, I'm giving it one more shot shopping for a party outfit, followed by a manicure/ pedicure (and it's entirely possible STACEY ALDSTADT will be joining me). Then, I'm celebrating with the person who's been through it all with me and been the most fantastic support anyone could ever have in such a situation--Chris and I are going to dinner. There may be champagne. There will be toasts. And cheers. And general happiness.

Let the partying begin!! I'm ready for my life back.

(Yes, the picture is of Chris. And yeah, that's a Strawberry Shortcake hat he's wearing. Oh, you have to go to a Forgotten Grapes wine tasting event to know why. It's not just because it helps to keep that hair under control).

Summertime!

Friday morning at about 9:05 a.m there was another monumental Cancer Occasion: I am 2/3 of the way through radiation!! 22 down, 11 to go. 4 this week coming up (thanks July 4th, for the 3 day weekend!), 5 the following week and then the final 2. Assuming all goes well with The Machine. And then it's party time!!! And the party planning committee has been hard at work--sampling wines, food, more wine, some beers, more wine, more food... yeah, they're a hard-working committee. And they claim they're doing it all for me. They did manage to come up with the spectacular party logo/invite on display here (and oh yeah, t-shirts will be made! I think my blue-gown ladies need parting gifts!). Credit goes to Mike Easley of Vital Excess who is an awesome designer and photographer--and manages to keep working while the rest of us,um...well, ...don't so much. (If the logo looks red and pink to you, it's not--that's my least favorite color combination ever. It's actually purple and pink, with black outlines--not sure what's happening with that).

It's the weekend now, so that means a radiation break. I notice that as Friday approaches each week, I'm definitely ready for the break from radiation. And it's nice to have a weekend like this. Last night we were in Corona Del Mar with Chris's family (his uncle was in town, plus Chris's birthday is Monday, plus Father's day was last weekend and we were with my dad so Chris's dad still needed to be honored--and dad's get honored by picking up a dinner tab for their entire family, right??). Today I managed to sleep in until 9:30. Medical necessity? Sure, I'm going with that. I don't know where the day went, but there was reading, writing, a few household projects and now Chris is in the kitchen making shrimp scampi (and I believe there is corn on the cob on the grill...ahhh, summer!). Dinner on the patio as the sun goes down. Oh yeah. Tomorrow I'll head in to the office to finish up moving into the new space and just to get a little work done. In other words, once again, I'm taking time off from cancer. I'm kind of a flake like that--I just refuse to give cancer my full time attention. I'd rather enjoy my weekends.

Don't you just love summer?

Like a Snow Day

I've never lived anywhere with snow and certainly never had a snow day that caused me to miss school, but I think I understand the concept. And today was like a snow day.

I got up at 6:30a.m. and went downstairs to make my coffee (I've been having my coffee and breakfast downstairs while doing my lawyerly continuing education reading for an hour each morning pre-radiation). I didn't even get the coffee started when the radiation office called and told me their machine was down and I didn't need to come in. They said they'd call me if/when it was back up.

Woo Hoo!! No radiation today!! So I went back to bed. Only I couldn't sleep. I realized they were going to tack that day on to the end of my treatments. Now instead of ending on July 13th, my treatments will end on July 14th. Woo Hoo no school. Boo hiss they add it to the end and cut into my summer. This is like a snow day, right? I can only have 3 more "snow days" before my "end of treatments" party on the 19th is premature. 15 treatments down, but there are still 18 to go. I suppose statistically my odds are good--the machine was only down once in 15 treatment days, so in theory (!!!) will only perhaps be down one more time before I'm through. Friday will get me past the halfway point--if the machine is back up!! [Note to self: ask how old this dang machine is!!]

I suppose the other good part about getting to skip a day of radiation is that it gave the treated area (such a nice euphemism for my right breast, isn't that?) a break. I'm starting to get those sharp shooting pains more frequently and then this weird pressure pain that actually causes me to gasp and take deep breaths to get past. Luckily both are short, quick pains, but pains nonetheless. The pressure pain lasts a little longer and freaks me out a bit (if it were more to the left, instead of so obviously where they are treating, I'd probably think I was having a mild heart attack--you know, if I were a drama queen or something). 18 more treatments should make this a good time.

If you wouldn't mind, could you send some good vibes to the radiation machine? Surely it responds to vibes, right?

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....

Post Party Post

Valerie has indeed sent me some party photos. Apparently the distance between her computer and mine is further than the distance between Murrieta and Riverside and the whole upload and "send" thing is taking hours. But she is persevering. And just in time because I'm tired. Really, really tired.

So I'm just going to remind you to vote on the Am-Hair-I-Can Idol wigs over to the right and let me know which look is "The Look." I can tell already there is a big split between men (and um, lesbians) and women (and, um, gays). You can't, but I can (based on emails and phone calls).

And then I'm going to just remind you what some of us were doing at just about this time last week:
On the left--CHRIS KERN and ZEE BEARD (they're both just so happy Obama was elected!!). On the right KATHY DOWNING, T.C. BOND, GUY PITTMAN and LAUREEN PITTMAN. Then next up on the left we have my "Leadership Riverside Girls" BARBARA WALLACE, SHERI NELSON LANDRUM and BECKY WHATLEY,

and then next up is VINCE PRICE, JANE CARNEY and ZEE BEARD (and why do I feel like Valerie said "hey, pretend you are having a really good time." Click. ?)

And next up, DOUG and BARBARA SHACKELTON... but that's Doug with BARBARA MOORE and Barbara with VALERIE ZUCKER...which is not confusing at all. But I think we all know now that the Shackeltons don't have a lot of pink in their closets. Oh, and this other picture? It's where everybody hung out all night. This is of course, the before picture. And then there was the extra special and totally appropriate emergency preparedness gift from BARBARA and STEVE WALLACE. Steve just happens to be an awesome bartender whose cosmos I enjoy annually at their holiday party. But cancer is like Christmas...so he brought me a Jug o' Cosmos. Perfection.

What's With Oncologists Anyway?

Today I got the "second opinion" (I'll explain the quotes in a moment) from Dr. Bosserman in Rancho Cucamonga. An exhausting day. Chris and I both took naps when we got home. But before I delve into all that....you're a fickle crowd aren't you? First I get "mentions" (okay, they may have been complaints) that I'm wordy. So last night, I took pity on you (and yeah, on me) and only put up a really simple almost-only-pictures post. And only 28 of you even bothered to check in on me...as opposed to the over 100 page views a day that had been occurring. The drop-off started with Chris's post and I tried to blame him (he's willing to take the blame, but it's becomes sadly obvious that's not the case). So I realize...you're bored with my cancer! Yeah, me too. It's like I've got nothing else....for 6 more months. Hey people, cancer can't always be funny.

So yeah, back to Rancho Cucamonga. I started out very, very grumpy and it went downhill from there. I didn't sleep well (shock!) and we had to drop off Seamus (thanks again Shawna D. and Destiny!) and be in RC by 9:15. Which may as well be 5:15 to me. Actually, 5:15 would have been better--I'm usually wide awake from 4 to 5 each morning. We went to Wilshire Oncology, which is, quite surprisingly, not in LA. I have no idea where that name comes from. Nice enough place, although it seems weird, after the megaopolis that is UCLA Medical Center, that one just goes to a regular ol' doctors office for something as all-consuming serious as chemotherapy. The office was way over-the-top decorated for Valentine's Day. Think kindergarten classroom manic pink/red/ hearts/candy decorated. Then imagine every one of the staff (not the doctor; her coat was still white) in some version of pink heart scrubs. I hate that stuff. Hate it. I don't do cute. I didn't do cute in kindergarten (and not just because I was already like five feet tall). Then they explained that they do this for every holiday. Let me do that crepe paper cardboard cut-out godawful colors pukey-cutesy math for you. 12 weeks of chemotherapy starting February 26th. I get St. Patrick's Day (because yeah, everyone wants to be in a green room with scarey leprechauns when hooked up to a machine that feeds them nausea-making fluids...mmmm, tasty), and then I get Easter (because bunnies and chicks and jellybeans are exactly what I'm going to be craving halfway through chemotherapy) and then, the coup de grace...I'll get Mother's Day too! Because the sap that pours out of Hallmark et al for that particular holiday and the forced sentimentality of it all makes my stomach turn when I'm healthy. It's just unfortunate that I won't be sticking around long enough for chemo-fireworks.

Once I got past that and then past the fact that they handed me a "mandatory" binding arbitration agreement (if I sue, no right to a trial...because right, juries love cancer patients and not so much the doctors, and so why wouldn't I give up my right to a trial??? And doesn't the mention of litigation and how they protect themselves from it coming up before I've even laid eyes on the doctor just give you the warm fuzzies? Yeah, me too. Or maybe that was the candy hearts.) Okay, but the place was clean, the staff was friendly and....they had pink donuts. With candy sprinkles. Which by the way, you shouldn't eat if someone is about to take your temperature...I didn't know that. I do now.

I thought at this stage of my breast cancer journey (yeah, everyone calls it that; I'm willing to be extradited) I was past the part where I walk into a room and whip my top off. I've done that so often for so many people I was starting to worry that one day I'd walk into a client meeting and take my top off, or you know, the grocery store frozen food section (which is a lot more like a doctor's office than you'd think). At any rate, I was wrong. Doctors can only see you if you are wearing a paper dress.

I donned the paper dress and eventually met Dr. Bosserman. Who, first impressions, was just a lot smaller than I expected. How can someone who kills cancer be so tiny? She is however obviously extremely competent (she told us so) and I don't think I've ever met anyone who talks faster than I do, but I have now. She completely agreed with Dr. Glaspy and paused for about 10 seconds longer than he did about the "guaranteed hair loss." There was a lot of name dropping (including an attorney that I also know, who is extremely well known for his bad-faith insurance litigation, so I'm kinda wondering why that came up--I think she meant she could get my insurance to approve things very quickly) and a ton of information. But here's the thing...I almost couldn't get a word in edgewise! I'd get half a question out and she'd dive into the answer--sometimes she correctly guessed what I was about to ask, sometimes she didn't, and sometimes...I was stunned into silence and forgetfulness (Of course, today I also walked into Starbucks and forgot to buy coffee, so there may be something else going on).

Call me crazy, but isn't it surgeons who have the bad rap for being ego-maniacs with bad bedside manners? And wouldn't you think an oncologist...you know a doctor who sees only patients with cancer... would be very compassionate? So now I've been spoiled by a surgeon who was compassionate, solicitous, funny and oh-so-calming (and hey, he's the one who had to tell me I had cancer in the first place) and I'm delivered unto two oncologists who both seemed too busy to talk to me, couldn't really see me as person (just a patient), and were, dare I say it, a tad arrogant. And hey, don't get me wrong, I want confidence. I want to know the doctor is good...but it's like they tell you in every writing class "show, don't tell."

An example of the "I don't see you as a person" oncological phenomenon. Both Dr. Glaspy and Dr. Bosserman asked me about my career. Here's how those conversations went:

Dr. G: Where did you go to law school?
Me: Loyola, right here in LA.
Dr. G: How'd you end up in Riverside? (and you could hear the "hell" implied--twice--as in how the hell did you end up in hell?)
Me: Well, I really wanted to ...[at this point he looked down on his chart, started writing, then glanced out the door and stood up]...work with frogs, at a Burger King, where homeless people are my only friends, and then pink. I also like pink. But not really. [That's not what I said, but trust me, he doesn't know that.]

Dr. B: What kind of law do you practice?
Me: I work in death and taxes. I'm an estate planning lawyer.
Dr. B: Don't lots of lawyers do that? That's just wills and trusts, right? [said while staring across the room at a calendar and calculating my next appointment]

Because you know, anytime you mention what someone does for a living, it's endearing and not at all rude to put "just" in front of it. "So you're just an oncologist?" "Ah, I see, you're just a priest?" "Just a stripper?" "You just wrestle crocodiles?" It totally works. Try it.

It wasn't all bad, and I did like Dr. Bosserman (I've got a weak spot for intense professional career-driven women) and she did offer to give me a research article about my particular chemo-cocktail (which isn't as commonly used yet; sort of cutting edge, as I understand it). I just wasn't you know, whipping out the camera, snapping photos and explaining my blog. (Her lawyers would be calling).

At any rate, Chris and I discussed. And discussed more. And basically, it's a tie--that gets broken by the fact that Rancho Cucamonga is only a half-hour drive away and UCLA is anywhere from an hour and 15 minutes to 3 days away. RC also seemed to have much more in the way of supportive programs--for example, they don't just hand me 14 prescriptions. They ask me for my pharmacy phone number and they call them all in for me. They also have a pre-chemo planning meeting with the nurse who trains Chris and I both for about 45 minutes on what to expect and what to do and all that. They also have a wig program and lots of options there. And they were willing to make my appointments now--they're that confident they'll get the Blue Cross approval in time. And one of the frustrating parts of this is not having control of one's schedule.

So, February 23rd at 3pm Chris and I go get chemo-trained. It's like boot camp for baldy. Then on February 26th, I'm in "the chair" and getting the drip for the first time. We picked a Thursday because the sick days will definitely be over by Monday and I'll be back at work. I'm told I'll be slightly nauseous and very tired the day of treatment and then a little more so the next. But should be better Saturday and Sunday (so of course I'm thinking, "well good, then I can go into my office on Sunday and get caught up". If I tolerate it well, I can switch to chemo on Fridays and still be back to work on Monday. This is the great and grand plan.

Oh, and we saw the chemo room--most crowded on Tuesdays and Thursdays we're told. And yeah, it was crowded. Nice big comfy recliners that look a lot like the ones you get pedicures in at places called "Happy Nails." Chris can stay with me for the whole time, but I'm not going to do that to him (although he insists on staying the first time at least). Yeah, he's cute like that.
Really, I figure you'll all be right there with me because I can bring my laptop. And if you thought watching Chris's hair grow was going to be a good time...wait until we get to the drip details--drip by drip. I know. I'm excited too.

See you all at the really super cute oh my gawd pink party!!