Take Your Poison

It's new year's eve.
The automated message on the other end of the phone reminded me that chemo begins in exactly one week.
So much for celebrating.

Truth be told, chemo is never really far from my mind.
But I'm a big girl.
I'll take my poison, and I'll complain about it...to you.

Deciding I needed a game plan,
(and obviously a change of attitude)
I opened my book of quotes to find Walter Elliot's:
"Perseverance is not a long race, it is many short races one after another".

Okay, so that's the goal.
And as my girlfriend Renee often says, "It's good to have goals."

Happy 2010 Everyone!

FOR SALE: Gently Used Blow Dryer

I have a lot of hair care products.
Heck, I have a lot of hair,
thick hair,
at least for now.

When I have a salon appointment, I usually carry my flat iron; wide-tooth comb; and blow dryer with comb attachment. The round brush works, but only if the person blowing my hair wants a bicep workout too.

The last time I saw my hairstylist,
he mentioned that I needed to buy a new one.








I'm about to start chemo.
Think I should post it on Craig's List?

Ten Days and Counting

The countdown begins today.

In ten days, I'll start chemo treatment.
For at least the next 20 weeks I expect to be sick, tired and bald.

But when I'm done,
I expect to be healthy, energetic and
...hairy.

Bra Burning

At least a dozen are piled on the bedroom floor.
I don't have the heart to throw them out...yet.

Earlier today I searched my lingerie drawer and removed all under wires:
Good-bye Vanity Fair;
So long Victoria's Secret;
Ciao Wonderbra. "I don't need you anymore."

Thus the (symbolic) bra burning has begun.
This time it isn't political.
It's practical.

Good thing too.
After doing a little research, I've learned that wearing under wire can be bad for my health.
Did you know that wearing metallic under wire bras, which attract and conduct electricity, can put you at risk of burning or death during electrical storms and lightening strikes?

Okay, so it wasn't really research.
Unless you believe everything you read on Wikipedia.

Merry Christmas from Old St. Noah

Dear Santa the Clause,

I just want you to have a great trip to

deliver the presents.

By Noah

I love Santa the Clause!

Noah penned this in a card and included it in the boxed gift he left "the Clause."

Noah felt that cookies alone were not enough since Santa brought gifts for everyone else.

Noah thought that Santa should receive a gift too.

Apparently Noah thinks more about Santa that most of us.

Merry Christmas!

D's Favorite Things 2009

Each year "Oprah's Favorite Things" episode sparks a frenzy among audience members.

Occassionally, I've asked for things on the list,

like Origins White Tea Body Cream (2002) or

The Discovery Channel's Planet Earth DVD box set (2007).

With Lady O slowly inching her way toward retirement,

I thought I should come up with my own favorite things list.

Follow my logic:

We're both black, female, TV personalities with a Baltimore connection.

The similarities stop there.

So if you're expecting an LG HDTV Refrigerator or HD Progressive Camcorder,

forget about it.

I don't have Oprah's clout or money.

Favorite Things 2009:

The "Cheers" bottle opener is both festive and functional. Purchased from Lucy and Ethel's in Historic Savage Mill, it's the perfect start to get your drink on.

Another one of my favorites, for a third year runing is Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramels. Ladies, you know what time it is when you need your chocolate and salt in one snack. Check these out.

Don't laugh, but I purchased several of these pink Snuggies for the breast cancer survivor and non-breast cancer survivors in my life. A portion of the proceeds are donated to breast cancer research. Kinda makes you feel warm all over.

Finally, my favorite things list would not be complete without Longhorn gear. And with UT heading to the BCS National Championship in January, I had to spread a little burnt orange love.

Swing Thoughts of My Own

I received a book entitled, "Swing Thoughts for The Cancer Club."
It is a collection of wonderful quotes by well-known people.
One of them currently hangs on my refrigerator, between the school menus and the shopping list.

"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle.
I just wish He didn't trust me so much." Mother Teresa

It's a good one.
That's where I am,
right there.

Inspired, I came up with my own:
Faith is something you must exercise, to make stronger.
Unfortunately, I don't always feel like working out.

Nineteen Hours, Thirty Minutes Ago

The call came at 12:38 a.m.
It couldn't be good.

It wasn't.

Jeff talked. I listened to him to talk.
He hung up.

"What happened?" I asked.
"Your father...911...heart attack...hospital."

We began to pray.
My mind wandered back a week, back to Houston.
I remembered kissing my dad on the cheek and saying "good-bye" three days ago.


Today, he's lying in an ICU bed, intubated, with IVs in both arms.
We've since learned it was arrhythmia, not a heart attack that caused his collapse.
We'll know the rest when he's extubated, a couple of days from now.

It's going to be a long 48 hours.

Pig Pen

Sister Weekend/Day Two.

Football: the sport of men,
as evidenced each weekend across the country.
Stephanie and I attended a Houston Texans' football game,
tickets courtesy of a friend.

All of the players, most of the fans and a majority of the tailgaters were male.

So it was no surprise that I as I stood in line,
waiting to buy a Blue Moon,
the two people ahead of me and the one behind me were all male.
(Could it be that men use football as an escape from women?)

But not so fast...

After realizing that I was the only one in line with a purse,
the man ahead of me asked to borrow a pen.
He proudly announced, "Women always carry pens in their purses."

Sensing that he might need to get in touch with his feminine side,
I opened my purse and handed him the pen my son, Chris, gave me:

My Weekend in the Fab Lane

My flight to Houston was longer than expected.

I was trying to visit my sister, when headwinds

and an in-flight emergency got in the way.

The visit was important to me because my younger

sister, Stephanie, had recently been diagnosed with

cancer, again. (Bet you're glad you're not in
my family. It's okay. I understand.).

A lesser woman would have crumbled at the mere
mention of cancer. Not my sister. Again and again,

she has approached cancer with the same fabulousity

in which she pursued everything in life.

Seriously, my sister is a force of nature.

To prove it, we had mani/pedis, lunch and retail

therapy reminiscent of an episode of

"The Real Housewives" Any City, USA:
Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Juicy Couture, and David Yurman.

Why was this woman on a first name basis with Rossi

in the Gucci Salon and Trey at David Yurman's?

Well you know what I did next...
I phoned Big Papa to get pre-approval of my purchase.

Then I handed over the plastic and purchased a

crossover ring, for the day I cross over to the cancer-free

side. Stephanie pulled out her Black Card (Housewives' style)

and purchased an identical ring, now known as our "sister rings."
The deal was sealed with a(nother) flute of sparkling wine.

...and that was just day one!

In the coming months, we will both start chemo.

And there will be times when we wrestle with doubt.

Those are the times when we'll each draw strength from our sister rings and our weekend in the fab lane.

Don't Ya Worry About a Ping, Mon!

I received a copy of physical therapy "axilla" exercises from a friend at church.
I hadn't looked at the papers in my purse when a friend, who is a nurse said,
"You really need physical therapy. I can tell by the way you're holding your left arm."

Since I'm up for a challenge,
cause you know breast cancer in itself isn't enough,
I unfolded the packet of exercises and got to work later that night.
Next day, my arm felt better and the mobility had slightly improved.
I thought - there might be something to this PT stuff!

By day three, I was hooked.
Before my diagnosis, I spent 4-5 days weekly in the gym,
perfecting my Michelle Obama shoulders, biceps and triceps.
So, what's a little physical therapy?

I started the exercises, careful to follow the instructions.
I used my I-phone to time my sessions; I wanted to execute them perfectly.

I was smokin'!
First exercise: Rep 1, Rep 2, Rep 3 - good
Second exercise: Rep 1 - good
Rep 2 - !!!PING!!!
!!!PING!!!? What the heck was !!!PING!!!?
Did something snap loose? Did I pop something?
Was my arm going to fall off later that night?

Without a doctor in the house, I phoned Gina, my nursing friend.
"Are you in Pain?" No
"Can you move your arm?" Yes
"Any swelling in the area?" No
Gina told me to watch it and apply heat if it bothered me.
She also said I should take a break from exercising, at least until Jeff came home from work.

I interpreted Gina's instructions as follows:

1. Make yourself comfortable; relax.
2. Take a Valium.
3. If Valium does not work, try a cocktail.

Now say it with me, in your best Jamaican accent: Don't ya worry about a !!!PING!!!, mon.

Aah...I feel better already!

My Prayer Shawl

Today was a good day, filled with unexpected blessings.
One of my favorite surprises was a shawl
"crafted with prayers for...healing body, mind and spirit".
Except for leaving the house, I have worn it all day.
And I am wearing it now.


It means a lot to me for several reasons:
1) A good friend gave it to me;
2) Her mother (a breast cancer survivor) knitted it, along with a group of women from church;
3) The shawl was blessed by a priest; and
4) When I wear it, I feel as though God's arms surround me.

Jeff's first impression of my shawl was a bit different:
Mobility in my left arm is still somewhat limited, so my arm moves stiffly.
And since I need a little help seeing the expiration dates on coupons, I wore reading glasses.
And don't forget the shawl!

Got the visual?

This is what breast cancer looks like

I often intersect with people, mostly women,
who tell me how good I look.
I think I look the same,
but this is what breast cancer looks like.

Watching last night's rebroadcast of CNN's "Black in America: 2"
reminded me that I wasn't just looking at a three-time, breast cancer survivor.
I was seeing a beautiful soul, with an abundance of grace, courage, and dignity.

To the casual observer, she may have looked like a slightly overweight,
middle-aged woman with sparse, wispy hair.
To me, she was radiant through the pain.
I thought:
This is what breast cancer looks like,
and she's amazing!

One day soon, possibly this month or next, I'll look in the mirror and see a woman,
heavy (from steroids),
bald (from chemo), and who knows what else.
But I also WILL TO SEE something greater than my former self:
a beautiful soul, with an abundance of grace, courage and dignity,
with joy that radiates beyond the disease.

I want others to recognize
This, too, is what breast cancer looks like.

Yesterday

Back to Walter Reed for more tests, doctors' appointments
First stop: Plastic Surgery to get a "refill" on my right side
Next, Nuclear Medicine for a MUGA scan of my heart
Afterwards, downstairs to Radiology for my CT
Drank the water bottle full of contrast
An hour-long wait, occupied with a visit to the oncologist
Chemo talk - traditional, trials, side effects, second opinion

I'm sitting across the desk thinking: I'll do whatever works. I don't want to do this again.

Final stop: CT Scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis
Contrast is injected
Why am I itching?
Allergic reaction
Benadryl STAT!
More delays, just in case....
There is no case; nothing happens

It's dark out now, as I wait for Jeff to pull the car around.
I'm sitting in the lobby when my I-Phone plays "The Mannish Boy Song."
It's her.
Her voice is uncharacteristically flat.
She takes a deep breath.
"It's more of the same," she says as she releases the air.
I'm silent, numb.
This wasn't supposed to happen again.

It was supposed to have worked.

Melancholy Blue

For a couple of days, I've pretended that breast cancer wasn't an issue.
And why not?
I felt well, almost normal.
I even thought I'd do a little decorating; get some shopping done; and
hop on the treadmill.
Since my next doctor's appointment isn't until Friday,
I concluded it would be easy to forget.

But sometime yesterday,
a shift occurred.
I'm not sure why it happened.

Was it the loved one I've worried about for more than a week now?
How about the friend who was having a bad day?
My Internet searches for chemo treatment?

Who knows, but a melancholy as heavy as Maryland fog settled over my soul,
smothering my ability to "forget".

Having my surgical drains pulled was bittersweet.
On one side of the equation - freedom
and there, waiting on the other - chemo, as soon as I finished healing.

Now I wait,
heal
and wait so more for the oncologists to call me in,
schedule my poison,
and start what I hope won't be the start of my "Melancholy Blue".