My knees hurt

And not because I've been spending too much praying. ... Uh, no. No, that's definitely not why.

I'm not sure why they hurt, but I'm thinking it might be because I've been spending 10 hours of my life at a desk the past few days. Or maybe it's because I haven't been spending enough (read: any) time walking. ... Or, my favorite excuse, maybe it's because I had radiation treatments a year ago that aged my body an approximate and virtual 30 years.

I love to blame radiation for all of my ills.

Why? Because I like to think I'm not doing anything wrong in my life that would make me feel like such an old woman (except for maybe I do eat too much fried chicken).

Also, radiation DID do a major number on me. The good news? Most radiation side-effects fade 12 months after treatment ends - and I will hit that 12 month mark 4 weeks from today.

This time last year, I couldn't keep more than 4 saltines down. And even then, I had to medicate after every meal/snack so I wouldn't projectile vomit every bit of water and cracker in my system.

Six months ago today I found out that my body had gone and grown another tumor. (Read: the cancer was back.) I found out that I had a new tumor and that I would have to have abdominal surgery (AGAIN!) in the same day. (So not my best day ever.)

...................................................................

Those things having been said, I think I'll keep my creaky and achy knees. I can eat food other than saltines and Ritz, and I'm cancer free. Who gives a flying leap if my knees hurt at the end of the day?

Life. It's all about perspective.

I think I'll go kneel on my achy knees and give a little (by which I mean short, not small or inconsequential) prayer of gratitude for my aches and pains.

All in a year's time

You may recall that last summer, Jo and I were pregnant at the same time. Oh, wait. She was pregnant. I just looked like I was. (Darn tumor!)



This year? Not so pregnant. (Either of us.) Jo has a stinkin' cute little baby named Sally and I ... well ... I am still wearing this same orange/pink/white tie-dyed style shirt. (Well, I've taken it in about 8 inches and now almost always wear it belted. But still, I am still wearing the same shirt. New clothes cost money. Altering clothes does not.)



You also may recall that, at the time, all of my doctors were under strict instruction not to share pictures, samples or even have conversations with me or my family members regarding said tumor. I knew, going in, that they were figuring it was about 10 lbs, and about the size of a volleyball in diameter. (They, of course, were dead wrong about the size/diameter, but that was the assumption.) Just this week, I sucked it up and asked for a copy of the dvd from the medical imaging company who performed the CT in June 2010. Mom and I looked though all 244 pictures of said tumor. Some of them made sense, some of them made us gag, some of them made us giggle. Almost all of them made us "see" things that weren't there. Here, I will show you.

Check this out. My guess is that this is a pelvic view (they did a chest/abdomen/pelvic CT) and those white arm-looking guys at the bottom are actually my femurs extended for that view.

But the thing is, even KNOWING that this is a pelvic view and the arms/legs are easily explainable, I can't help but think that it looks a little like a weight-lifting championship being held by maniacs. ... Seriously, check out the maniacal grin on Atlas there as he holds up the world. (The world = my 22.5 lb tumor.)



And then there's the balloon tumor, AKA: Pinky and The Brain. (It's wanting to take over the world.)



This was the first picture I saw, and it made my stomach fall right out of me. They'd shaded out all organs, so all you can see is the tumor, free-floating. It looks a little Hiroshima to me.



And, in the spirit of saving the best (or, at least, my favorite) for last. Check out the kitty cat tumor. The split spinal cord at the bottom of the shot looks like a cat, and the tumor looks like balls and balls of gray yarn stacked up in a bowl. Hilarious, no?!



Who knew that CT shots of tumors would be such a fun run down Rorschach Lane? I tell you what, if I am ever in my life given another Rorschach test, I will be thinking that every single ink shot looks like a tumor. Every single one. Hilarious!

It's been a nutty, nutty year. I've had three surgeries in twelve months, lost somewhere between 80 and 90 pounds (I don't believe in owning a scale, for reasons I will not go into here and now), mostly due to having spent months of my life last summer subsisting on crackers and air. (Not a diet I'd recommend.) I've gotten pretty good at altering dresses, skirts and tops to fit the new me. My mom has gotten even better at custom-fitting dresses that I'd shrunk right out of. (What do you think she does when she comes to "take care of me" after all these surgeries? I run quite the little dress-altering-sweat-shop here, folks.) I've modified my diet and my lifestyle. Not grossly (and any of you people who are cracked enough to think a triathlon is on the horizon for me are simply that - cracked - it took me getting cancer (twice) to start walking on a daily basis, I don't even want to consider what might happen in my life to make me start running, swimming and/or biking for miles on end).

I've said it before, and I'm sure that I'll say it again. And again. And again.

This year has been hard. In some ways, unspeakably hard. There are moments, days and nights that I won't ever talk about, because simply remembering those dark hours reduces me to a puddle of tears. But there are other parts, even other hard parts, that have made it all worthwhile. This year isn't something I'd have chosen out of a basket full of fun things to do (we all know I'd rather have a summer fling than a summer cancer treatment program), but I would never - never, not ever - consider giving it back. I have learned things that I don't think I could have learned any other way.

Relationships have been redefined. Friendships and family are the most precious things in my life. Time has new meaning. Risk isn't really risk anymore, it's more like just taking a chance or trying something that I've always wanted to do.

I have been redefined. (Not just my waist and my hips and my sad, old lady bosom and my bum full o' stitches.) I am different. Different in a way that I like to think is better, and stronger. (It's probably all those push-ups I have to do just to get down into and then up out of bed.)

May this year never feel the need to repeat itself so long as we all shall live.

Amen.

Guess who graduated?

With high honors, no less?

Yup, that'd be me. After 27 radiation treatments, I got to call it quits. (And then I heard choirs of angels sing.)

(And I know you're all wondering if they ever give diplomas/graduation certificates with less than "high honors". I really don't know. Or care. All I know is, I'm done. And the angels are singing. Amen.)

And look what else I got? A lovely cancer survivor pin. I'm gonna make sure and wear this on the first awkward post-cancer first date I go on. Then it'll be me who's making unusual and what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-this-person conversation, and not the dude who thinks that dresses are more comfortable than pants. (I kid you not, I once had a dude try to convince me how much more comfortable dresses are than pants. On a first date. Yeesh...)



I kid, of course. I mean, not about the pin. Or about being a cancer survivor. I really did get the pin, and I really did survive cancer (*crosses fingers*). But I won't be wearing it on a date. This summer isn't the kind of thing one wants to bring up on a first date. Also, I don't want to make light of cancer, since she's a bitch. I hate her and wish they'd find a cure, like... yesterday.

(I know Mom, I swore. In writing. Which is kind of naughty. But I do hate the cancer. A lot. And that is why I wouldn't ever really make light of it. Ever.)

Anyway, the radiation is over. (Did someone queue the Hallelujah chorus, or is the singing just in my head?) Hooray! Now I just need to let my sad little body heal so they can do a CT in 6-8 weeks to be sure that it's really gone. (For those of you who may wonder why I have to wait for the CT - my body is beaten and bruised, and burnt beyond recognition on the inside. I have some swelling and redness that's visible on my upper stomach, but what's really killing me are the radiation burns on the inside of my body. I didn't feel them until Tuesday of last week, which in and of itself is a blessing, but boy howdy, can I feel them now! The worst of them is a burn that's about the size of the palm of my hand located in my lower right abdomen, just below my bellybutton. It is excruciating, and the worst pain I've felt all summer. (To put that into perspective, I'd like to remind you that I have a 13 inch incision down my middle. I'm telling you, the burns hurt. Horribly. I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy... which is saying a lot, because anyone who knows my inner 12 yr old knows I could (and sometimes do) wish a whole heck of a lot of pain on my enemies.) It'll take another week or so until the burns will heal completely (they're already better than they were this time last week - I haven't screamed even one time today, which is an improvement). The CT will take place at the end of October/first of November. By Thanksgiving the results will be in and I'll know for sure that I won't need more radiation, and by Christmas I should be feeling "good" again. (I've been told that in 3-4 weeks after radiation, the residual radiation will have eked out of my body - that I'll have more energy and be able to digest food again - but it can take 2-3 months to really feel like a normal person.)

So... By my birthday I should be able to eat cake. By Thanksgiving, I'll know if the cancer's really and truly gone. By Christmas, I'll be singing along with Holiday Inn while I eat a pound of fudge (it'll be just like old times, man). I can hardly wait.

But for now... I'm a radiation graduate who's in proud posession of a cancer survivor pin. And that's totally enough for now.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Literally.

I have been ordered to drink high calorie, sweet and icy drinks.

Or whatever it takes to meet my minimum gallon of water/liquid a day. I'm in big trouble with the radiation oncologist. Why? Because I'm dropping weight like a crazy mad woman. (Or more like a cancer patient, actually.) Seriously. Every time they weigh me, I've lost weight. (Between 3-5 lbs a week.) This week when I had my little check-in update I got a major lecture on not eating/drinking enough. I told him (for about the 700th time) that I'm eating all I can eat, and drinking all the water I can drink. ... And that's when he told me he doesn't care what I drink, as long as it's wet. (That's a quote.) In fact, he told me the higher calorie drink, the better. (Whatever it takes to maintain my weight, or something like that.)

Enter my love of Sonic. Add to that love the fact that there's a conveniently located Sonic on my way home from the doc. Multiply that by the time of day I have radiation treatments (read: it's Happy Hour) when I'm on my way home. ... And what you get is a delicious, icy treat for Laurie Monday-Friday. The bummer is that the cherry limeade is off the table (no carbonation for me these days). But I've been making friends with the cranberry slush this week, and all is right in the world.

Here's hoping I don't gain 3 lbs this week from the consumption of sugary, icy goodness. (Then again, I wouldn't get in trouble for gaining weight. I don't think...)

Stuff that makes me gag

Lately everything and its dog is making me gag. Seriously. Everything. (Or almost everything, anyway.) So, I thought I'd make a list of all the things that have made me gag (literally) in the last few days. (You know how much I like to make lists, right?)

Soppy wet mud (blech)
The smell of garlic (specifically, the smell of garlic on someone's breath)
Pictures of food (no more PW Cooks for me...)
The lines on the road (the freeway is especially bad)
The smell of tomato soup/spaghetti sauce
Both the sound and smell of hamburger cooking
Sayid slitting the Samurai's throat
Stinky diapers
Wilty Sunflowers
Tempe Town Lake - in its current empty state (all that mud - gag)
The smell of french fries
Sliced ham
Green grapes
Lemonade
Ibuprofen (sadly, I heave every time I swallow pills these days)
Greasy hair
Really cold water
Hot chocolate
The sound of egg shells breaking
The smell of my deodorant (TMI? Sorry)
Season 6 Claire's hair (blech)
The sound of the water splashing in the pool
Bending over and picking stuff up off the floor
The constant burping
Thinking about eating cheese - ever again
Accidentally seeing a bruise (I try not to look at them)
Waking up
Trying to go to sleep
Radiation

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it's really just the radiation that's making me want to heave at all moments. Seriously, that poison that they're shooting at my guts every day is about to do me in. I so hate having a queasy stomach. (But at least the Zofran keeps me from actually puking. I have that to be grateful for. ... God bless Zofran, and the doctor who gave it to me. Amen.)

A Progress Report

Today, I hit the halfway mark for the radiation treatments. Three weeks down, three to go. Halle-freakin-lujah! And I thought it would be fun to give ya'll a little recap of what I can (and still cannot) do these days.

It's been just over 8 weeks since surgery. I still cannot roll over. I understand most babies learn to roll over between 3-5 months. ... My abdominal muscles aren't as strong as those of a 5 month old baby. Awesome. (But I can lie on my side now, thankyouverymuch.)

I can shave my own legs. (I just heard a whoop of "hooray!" around the world.) Life is good. (Any day now, I should be able to clip/paint my toenails again. Ya'll are looking forward to that day as much as I am, I'm sure.)

I can lift a gallon of milk. (I know, that's not one most of you would find impressive. But trust me, it's a big deal.)

I can wear a 1 1/2 in heel - but 2 inches is too much and they make my stomach hurt. (Oh, the muscles we women use to balance on our girly shoes. It's so funny to me.)

I can get out of a float in the swimming pool. (For a while there, I had to swear off the pool. The first time I went swimming, I got stuck in a float and for the life of me could not bend in half to get out of it. It was terrifying - and hilarious. I can now float and un-float at will. I bend in the middle again. Wahoo!)

I can't carry a heavy purse. (As ridiculous as I know that sounds, it's true. The weight and bulk of my normal-sized purse isn't comfortable. I'm the queen of clutches these days. Any of you who are familiar with my usual purses can imagine how hard it is for me to carry a bag that will only fit my phone and wallet in it.)

I can sleep through the night. (The fact that I can sleep more than 4 hours at a time is still thrilling to me. Now that I can fall asleep on my side, I fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer than I'd been thinking would ever happen again. ... One of the "perks" of radiation is that I'm pretty tired. As in, I'm sleeping for 9-11 hours every night these days. - My usual is 7, maybe 8. It's mind blowing that not only can I sleep through the night, I can sleep until 8:00 or 9:00 in the AM.)

I can't eat ice cream, cheese, grapes, or more than 4 baby carrots at any given time. (This last week, I've tried to play with the diet. I've experimented with the foods on the forbidden list and have found that, uh... yeah, there's a reason I'm not allowed to eat fruits, vegetables, or anything with a dairy base. Awesome. The good news? I can keep 4 baby carrots down. They don't seem to cause any major issues - as long as I only eat 4, once a day. Hahaha.)

I'm off the prescription pain meds, and am down to only 3 doses of ibuprofen a day. (I feel less like a druggie, which is good. For a while there, I was wondering if I'd need to join a support group for Percoset Users Anonymous. ... Not that I'd be all that "anonymous", seeing as I've pretty much told the whole www that I love the stuff and it was my best friend for weeks after surgery.)

I'm walking less and sitting more. (They'd told me, when I started radiation, that I'd be tired. I had no idea how tired I'd be. I mean, I was tired after surgery, but it was different. This tired is a funny thing, because I sleep for-freaking-ever at night, but still wake up with just enough energy to sit still all day. The good news? It won't last forever. And I'm re-watching the entire series of LOST.)

I'm not eating chocolate. At all. Which, if you know me even one little bit, you know is STRANGE behavior. It's on the forbidden list, and is pretty much the one thing I have truly steered away from. (Why? Because if chocolate made me sick, it might ruin our relationship forever, and I just can't take that kind of risk.)

So, like I said. It's been 8 weeks since surgery - and I'm 3 weeks into radiation. This whole mess of a surgery oriented summer is more than half over. On the one hand, it's been fast. On the other, I don't even remember what it was like to eat/feel/sleep like a normal person. Hardcore digestive issues will most likely set in next week, as they'll be changing the radiation fields. (They've been hitting the same spot(s) for the last 3 weeks. The next 3 weeks will have varied treatment fields and strengths, to make sure they've hit not only the original tumor area, but any surrounding areas that were affected as well.)

I'm doing well (as long as I don't eat cheese, grapes or other forbidden foods - hehehe). I'm taking anti-nausea meds every day, and they're helping. I sleep a lot, which I figure will help my stomach muscles heal so one day (hopefully soon) I can roll from my back onto my stomach and over again. Radiation is halfway over, and as much as I do enjoy the techs there telling me how cute I am every day, I'm looking forward to the day that I don't have to go back. ... Maybe I could get a new "Laurie, you look cute" support group going to take their place. I wonder if I could get James to talk to Nathan about heading that up. Hmmm... I'll get right on that. Tomorrow. After 9:00 AM, when I'm awake again. :-)

By popular demand - tattoos and guts

I've had a lot of people asking me questions about my tattoos in the last couple days, which is funny to me, since I could have sworn that I'd typed a post about them weeks ago. ... Uh, it seems that I just wrote that post in my head. (I can't say it enough, sometimes I could swear that it was a brain tumor. My memory and ability to spell, they're completely shot.)

Anyway, the way they know where to shoot the radiation is a two-part thing. For one, when the surgeon removed the tumor, he put little clips in my body. Seriously. Metal clips. In my abdomen. (I'm a little excited to see what happens next time I fly. I kinda hope that Security will have a minor freakout on me and then I can explain the removal of the 22.5 lb tumor and subsequent metal clip placement. I think that would be fun. ... I know, I'm sick in the head.) So, these little clips served two purposes during surgery: 1) they cut blood flow, which helped keep my guts clear for surgery itself and 2) they created a roadmap inside my body that would show the radiation oncologist where to shoot the beams during treatments.

In fact, here's a fun little picture of my guts. You can kind of see a clip in the mid-right section. (It's white, just a fraction of an inch over from my spine.)

Crazy, eh? This is a shot of my midsection. If you look at the bottom of the picture, you can see my spine. (I'm not sure what that bone-looking thing above it is. Maybe I have two spines? I don't know. Oh, wait. It's my pelvic bone. ... I think. I really don't know for sure, though.) You can see my kidneys to the left and right of my spine, they're kind of circled in a purpley color. The area above what may-or-may-not-be-my-pelvic-bone, and to the right, that's circled in pink is the treatment area. This is where the tumor started. It was attached to a kidney, my colon and a ureter. Awesome. (And yet, there was no invasion into any of these organs. I am amazed, and humbled, that this could have been so very much worse than it was.) They're blasting not only the area that the tumor was in, but also the tissue it started in, because - unfortunately - this type of tumor has a high likelihood of re-growth (50-60%), and there's a possibility that there were microscopic tumors at the time of surgery that weren't removed, because they couldn't be seen.

So, the clips in my body are the first way that the doctors know where they need to zap me. I had two CT's done the week before radiation started, so the doctors could see exactly where to shoot the radiation - also so there would be a baseline of what my guts looked like before treatment.

The second way they know where to shoot me is by using tattoos as guides. A few days after having the CT done that showed where my internal markers are, I had to go in and have corresponding marks put on the outside of me. These tattoos are lined up with lasers in the radiation room before they start the machine, so the techs know they're hitting me exactly where they're supposed to.

By popular demand, here is a picture of one of my five lovely tattoos. For those of you who may have weak stomachs (and you know I won't judge you, because this is usually very much a "present company included" issue) this is where you might want to scroll down. (Aunt Cindy, I'm talking to you. Scroll down. Quickly. Before you read one more word.)

You can see part of my lovely scar from the incision, as well as some sweet staple marks, there to the left of this tat.




Yeah, the tattoos aren't very big. In fact, they're kept small so they'll look more like freckles and less like... well, tattoos, when it's all said and done. I have a total of five, the first is an inch from the top of my incision, then at the mid-point of the incision, and an inch from the bottom of the incision. I also have one on the left and right sides of my body, marking the outside line of the treatment area.

They use a permanent marker to make an X across the mid-section and side tattoos, because that makes it easier for the techs to make sure I'm lined up right on the table before they run the machine.

Here's a pic of my near-the-belly-button tattoo.



Super sexy, eh? (I know, who'd have ever thought I - of all people - would be putting pictures of my bare midriff on the www?) Don't mind the gross discoloration. My tummy doesn't actually look that pink and raw, it was bad lighting more than anything else. (I promise, Mom. Really. It's a little pinkish and it's itchy, but it's not that bad.)

So... those are my guts. And my tattoos. I wish I had a better picture of the clips/roadmap inside of me. I'll ask my doctor on Monday if he has any other pictures of my guts that he can give me. He's pretty cool with stuff like that. If I get anything else, I'll post it for ya'll. Promise.

Radiation 101

This is what I get to see every day. I walk through a hallway that's plastered with these signs, and then I lie down on a table like this...

And then they get to work on blasting the cancer out of my body. It's awesome.

Okay, but really, that is exactly like the machine I that blasts me every day. I even have a blue triangle pillow like that to go under my knees. Two really nice girls help me lie down (I still don't have the muscles to be able to lie down flat without assistance. It's sad, but true), then they lift my shirt and line up the tattoos on my stomach with the lasers. (Seriously. There are laser lights on the walls and they cross the tattoos on my stomach. It's trippy.) Once they get me positioned just right (I lie on the table, on top of a sheet, and they move the sheet incrementally, to make sure I'm in exactly the right position), the techs walk out of the room and leave me there all by myself.

And then the arm starts to move.

Well, first, the table raises itself, and then the arm starts to move.

I tell you, my life is like a science fiction movie right now.

The arm goes all the way around me, stopping every few minutes to shoot radiation through my body. I thought it was interesting that I get shot from every angle, from top and bottom and side to side. My doctor explained that it's like cooking a hamburger. While it's possible to cook a hamburger at a low heat and it will cook all the way through, it takes a while, and one side will very likely be burnt. It's much faster and more effective to flip the hamburger halfway through because it will cook faster and more evenly. (Also, having radiation from every angle means there's less chance that any one part of my skin will suffer severe burns. Of course, that means I may get a burn all the way around my abdomen/back, but at least it shouldn't be really bad in any one part.)

The treatments themselves only last for 7 minutes. I know it's over when the "danger, danger" light stops flashing in the corner of the room and one of the techs comes back in to lower the table and help me get up. (Remember how I can't lie down by myself? Yeah, I can't sit up by myself either. It's awesome.)

The treatments don't hurt. At all. ... Well, except for when my right arm goes to sleep. (I have to raise both arms over my head and hold onto these little handles. Every once in a while I get in a weird position and my arm falls asleep, because I can't move once they start the radiation, lest my body get off-target.)

Possible side effects: sunburn-like skin burns, nausea, diarrhea, fatigue.

I talked to the doctor on Monday and he told me that he didn't think I'd suffer a lot of side effects, due to the type of laser, the treatment area being buried so deeply in the core of my body, and the dosage that they're hitting me with. He explained that a lower dose of radiation is more likely to burn the skin, as well as give other side effects. He likened low dose radiation to a shotgun, in that there are a lot of little pellets/bullets that do their damage by ricocheting inside a target - and then he said that the higher powered radiation is like a sniper rifle, it is designed to hit a specific target, and will go through walls (and, uh... my guts) in order to hit its target. He told me that if I had any side effects, it wouldn't be until weeks in, but he didn't think I'd have any real issues. He told me that I didn't need to stick to the super strict diet, that I should eat what I would usually eat and if I had any issues come up, to start striking foods from my diet one at a time. He told me that I probably wouldn't get really bad burns, that I could swim if I wanted to, just to make sure and hydrate (lotion) my skin afterwards, so the chlorine wouldn't hurt me.

And then he delivered the caveat that they all seem so fond of: "Of course, everyone reacts differently to treatment, so we can't be positive..."

And now I know why they throw that disclaimer out.

I've been sick every day. Like, pukey sick. Monday and Tuesday, I was just nauseated (no actual puking) from 3:00-8:00. Wednesday I started puking my guts up at 4:30, and couldn't hold anything down until after 8:00. Today, I told the techs that I've been stomach sick every day, and that yesterday I lost everything I ate/drank for hours. The all around reaction was "But it's so soon!". No kidding, it's so soon. Since day 1?! Who does that happen to? ... Oh, me. Awesome. By the time the treatment was over, they'd lined up an appointment with a nurse and a doctor following treatment today, and now I have a prescription for nausea medicine that I'll take half an hour before treatments to make sure I can keep my lunch and eat some dinner. Tomorrow I'll meet with the nutritionist to go over the diet do's and don't. Egads. ... Oh, well. At least I had that one day (Monday) to live happily under the delusion that I could eat whatever I wanted to and I wouldn't be sick.

My stomach itches. Not as bad as it did the first few weeks after surgery, when all the stitches and staples were making stuff come back together, but still. It itches. ... I'm afraid it's the beginning of the sunburn. I bought the GINORMOUS sized bottle of Lubriderm at the WalMart today. Hopefully, that'll help with that.

Also, I'm tired. I mean, I am T-I-R-E-D. I haven't been this tired since... well, since week 2 after surgery. So, apparently the fatigue is starting to set in.

Oh, and I'm about to trade my stock in Dulcolax in for stock in Immodium. *If you've been making a bundle on recent laxative sales you may want to sell while your stocks are high.

So much for the thought that my side effects would be minor, if at all. The good news? They won't last forever - and the cancer will be gone.

One more day this week, then - 1 week down, 5 to go.

*As I am a consumer, and not an employee, of either company, I'm pretty sure I can't get in trouble for insider trading with this little tip.

Eat, Drink and be Merry

Because tomorrow the cancer (and, unfortunately, a lot of other, healthy, cells) will die.

Yup, tomorrow - August 2nd - I start radiation treatments.

I'm kind of excited to get the show on the road and go to the next phase of fighting this stupid disease, but I'm kind of nervous, too. Not that the treatments themselves will be hard, or painful. They won't be. It's the side and after effects that are freaking me the heck out. Not to mention the diet. At this point, I think the diet suggestions/requirements may kill my spirit before the radiation kills the cancer. Honestly. When I told my brother, Spencer, what I wasn't allowed to eat, his reply was "That's like a 6 week straight Fast Sunday!". No freaking kidding, Roon.

On the list of food that I am not to eat, lest my possible (I think the word there is supposed to be "probable", but I'm gonna think positive and go with "possible") digestive issues overcome me:

Caffeine (This, obviously, includes soda - which isn't too big of a deal, as I haven't been able to drink a respectable amount of Coca Cola since surgery. I tell you, those doctors did something to my body when they cut me open and took out Darth Vader. I can't drink more than 10 sips of carbonated beverage before I'm uncomfortably full. It's tragic. ... And while we're discussing tragedies, let me just tell you that the cancer book also spelled out that chocolate is on the list of forbidden caffeinated goodness. Oh, the horror. No chocolate, until mid-September, at best. I think I may just shrivel up and die right now.)

Spicy Foods (Yeah, salsa. It is now forbidden. There goes one of my all time favorite food groups. My favorite go-to snack/meal of chips and salsa has been taken off the table - literally. And so much for tacos loaded with sour cream and cheese, dripping salsa. They are the trifecta of food sins while on the radiation diet.)

Which brings me to... (hold your breath, this is so horrible)

Dairy. (Yup, no dairy. Not only am I forbidden tacos with sour cream, cheese and salsa, I have to strike cream cheese, yogurt and ... it pains me to type it ... ice cream from my diet. Oh, and milk. Not that that, alone, is such a major loss. I never drink the stuff - unless it has chocolate in it, and we all know that's against the rules right now.)

Fiber. (Which is ironic, considering I've been eating fiber rich foods like they're going out of style for the last 6 weeks. I can only imagine the shock my body's going to go through when I stop eating Wheat Chex and fresh fruit every day. - But seriously, no fiber. Raw fruits and vegetables are listed specifically as food I need to stay away from. So are whole wheat bread and cereal, perish the thought.)

Fries. (Or hamburgers or any other fried or fast food. So much for going to Red Robin for a half a cobb salad with a side of steak fries and poppy seed dressing. So much for the drive-thru treat that is Wendy's Bacon & Blue. No more Panda. My life is over.)

On the upside, here's what I can eat:

Clear broth (chicken or beef ... ooh-la-la, I have options)
Cranberry or grape juice
Fruit punch
Gatorade (right - as if)
Water
Boiled Potatoes
Chicken (broiled or baked ... chicken, two different ways, fancy)
Crackers
Cream of Wheat
Noodles
Oatmeal (I'd rather drink Gatorade)
Pretzels
Rice
Toast
Angel food cake
Canned peaches
Jello
Sherbet (which is sorta like ice cream ... sorta)

Awesome, right? The good news is that I like chicken. And I enjoy Cream of Wheat. And noodles. And pretzels. And Jello. And Sherbet. Also, in the world I live in, boiled potatoes = mashed potatoes. (Now I just need to figure out how to make them delicious without the use of butter, cream, cream cheese and/or sour cream, since those are all forbidden. Hmmm...)

Needless to say, ever since I read the lovely pamphlet that outlined my diet do's & don't for the next few weeks, I've been binging. I mean... I have been binging. Why? Because I had four cartons of ice cream in my freezer that I refused to donate to the children in my life. (It was high dollar stuff people, not the kind of cheap ice cream that should be fed to the young.) Also, I had a lot of fiber-rich food that needed to be eaten. Oh, and some other stuff that sounded so good that I had to have it before The Day of Reckoning came.

Yes, what I'm telling you is that I went and picked up a to-go order of chips & salsa from Chili's. I ate the entire bag of chips (and pint of salsa) in two sittings. Go ahead and judge me, I won't care. It was delicious - and I won't be able to eat salsa again for a really long time.

This weekend, I've been living on a steady diet of:

Licorice
FiberOne bars
Salad
Peaches
Strawberries
Blueberries
Chips & Salsa
Cucumber and Tomato Sandwiches (on whole wheat bread)
Ice Cream
Cheese (Havarti, Swiss, Feta, Blue and String)
Popcorn
Orange Juice
My weight in chocolate

And... that's about it. I tell you, "Eat, Drink and be Merry" has been my mantra for the past four days. So what if I have a pretty constant state of indigestion going on? So what if I've had to treat two different tops for salsa spills, lest they turn into stains? So what if I don't even like Dreyer's Rocky Road anymore, because I've eaten too much of it in too little time? So what?

I ate, I drank, and I have made merry.

And tomorrow some cancer cells are gonna die.