June 21

A Comparison/Contrast Photo Essay

The Tumor Tummy of 2012

June 20, 2012

The Tumor Tummy of 2010

June 21, 2010 

I may be "delivering" twins today, but I'm nowhere as big and pregnant as I was with the 22.5 lb of yesteryear.

Crazy tumors.

June 12

I've been thinking that I should do a series of belly shots by the week. You know, like the pregnant-with-an-actual-child women do...

Behold: June 2

I'd been happily typing away on my keyboard when I happened to look down and see what looked like a VERY pregnant belly in front of me. (I was sorely tempted to post it on the blog that night, but just in case that was all cake and no tumor, I didn't want to show the world how big and round my tummy was getting.)

But now, the results are in. That's a tumor, kids. Well, it's two tumors, actually. And a hernia. ... And not a small amount of cake. (But I'm blaming the round and firmness of my belly on the tumors and the hernia. Fo sho!)

A week later, I was at Spencer's house and Brea asked if she could take a picture of my belly.

Behold: June 10

Too bad the lighting's not great, because my face looks a little Gremlin-y (for those readers who only know me virtually and haven't ever seen me in actuality, I promise that my eyebrows don't usually look so weird and pointy).

This is what I'm saying people, I AM A TUMOR GROWING MACHINE. Honestly, no wonder I'd been feeling like my belly was getting bigger every week. It was! (It is!)

Stay tuned for an update on the belly this coming weekend. ... I know, this is exactly the kind of scintillating reading/viewing that keeps you coming back for more. (Listen, at least I'm not showing you my scar. Though I'm half tempted to document it, knowing as I do that Dr. G's gonna cut the whole thing out and I'll be growing a new scar from scratch. Only time'll tell on that one. I figure I have eight more days to decide if I want to document that lovely piece of my anatomy, before I lose it forevermore.)

I have the sweetest brother.

Spencer sent me a text a few days ago. This is what it said:



I parked next to this license plate at work the other day and saw this breast cancer license plate and it made me think of you. 2 time survivor. Way to go!

I love him. I have the best family. Ever.

No chemo for Laurie: the pros and cons.

Here's the scoop. I met with my oncologist today and found out that I will not be going through chemo this time around. I know, I know... a collective YAY was just heard around the world. But here's the thing - this is a mixed blessing. It's a very, very, very good thing, in that I won't be THAT kind of sick. I won't lose my hair or puke my guts up all day long for weeks. (Yay!) But it's a bit of a bummer, because the reason I won't be doing chemo is that it just isn't effective on the type of cancer/tumor that I grow. (Boo!) Studies they've done on cancer patients with liposarcoma show mixed results after chemo treatments, and my doctor isn't willing to put me through chemo on the off chance that it might prevent recurrence. I'm incredibly grateful for a doctor who cares about who I am too much to put me through treatments that would ravage my body just to see if chemo "might" work. At the same time, it's hard to know that chemo is a weapon that I don't have in my arsenal. It's one of the most well-known cancer treatments, and it just won't work for me. That's hard. And frustrating. (Because, frankly, all I can think right now is that six weeks of radiation the first time around didn't stop it from coming back. And now chemo's off the table, too?) It's frustrating to me that my body went and created such a random and little-known tumor/cancer (twice) that they don't know what to do with it.

As grateful as I am that I will not have to go through chemo and the horror that those treatments are, this is a real and scary and hard thing I'm living with right now. I'm being as positive as I humanly can be, and I like to think that I'm doing a fairly decent job of it. It's hard to balance hope with reality. And yet, I have faith that someone, somewhere, will know that there's something I can do (or take) to give my body a leg up in not only recovery, but in ensuring my body's receiving the best post-op care it can, so I'm never in this position again.

At the end of the day - at the end of this very hard, emotional day - I am hopeful. My doctor referred me to a clinical trial/research facility in North Scottsdale. He thinks they may have some new medication there that would be beneficial, and I'm willing to try anything - esp if there's a specialist there who may know something that my general oncologist doesn't, just because of the rareness of what I have. (And how much better would it be if that specialist were single, in his mid-late 30's and looking for a wife who is a cancer survivor? ... I'm just saying that I'd like both a cure and someone who'd pay the bills around here. If we could please kill two birds with one stone, that would work for me.)

As always, stay tuned to Cancer Central for future updates. You know I'll give you the info as soon as I have it.

Today's the day.

Well, it's a day, anyway.

Not like it's the most important day ever.

But it is pretty important day, information-wise.

It's the day that I meet with the oncologist to find out what comes next.

So, it's sort of a big day. You know, in the grand scheme of how we're gonna attack the cancer this time around.

I'm nervous. But, at the same time, not. I mean, it is what it is. I've been told by the Lord in no uncertain terms that I need to do what my doctors tell me to do. That being said, it doesn't really matter what the doc says I need to do, I'll do it. (I just sort of hope that his plan is that I take the whole summer off work so I can eat half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie and then take a 2 hour nap every day, and that's it. ... I sort of doubt that's what the treatment plan will be, but it sounds nice, doesn't it?)

I'll be back, probably later this afternoon or tonight, to let you know what the plan of attack for the Tumor of 2011 will be. For now, I just wanted to let you know that today's the day.

I'm so tired.

This is the story of my life these days.

I'm so tired, that I can't sleep.

Probably because I took a 6 hour nap this afternoon.

Also, I can't sleep because I just can't get comfortable. Between my swollen bum (I tell you, I love this recliner and all, but sitting all day is causing complications for my already sore backside) and the fact that it hurts to lie in bed, because I feel like I've taken about 18 kicks to my left kidney in a street fight (the area the tumor was removed from is experiencing some internal trauma - this is normal, I know, because I talked to the surgeon about it today, and while he did smile/smirk a bit when I told him that I felt like I'd been used as a punching bag and would, in fact, take it very personally the next time I saw a movie with a street fight in it, he told me the soreness and internal swelling is quite normal.) Between my sad incision missing its staples (I don't know HOW removing staples can make an incision hurt worse, but it sure did), my bum and my kidney... I just can't win.

The good news? I still have some pretty good drugs.

Too bad the drugs are having quite the effect on my small motor skills. (It's taken me 20 min to type this. Ridiculous! So much for using this convalescent time to write the great American novel, or even some entertaining Chick Lit. I struggle to type a full sentence. It's tragic, really.)

So, I'm going to try and go to bed now. Mom's off to dreamland, and since I have no one else to talk to (and since it's troubling to me, how difficult it is to type), I may as well take my sad little kidney and go to bed. I'll be back with another progress report tomorrow. Hopefully, one with more pics and less words. (You know, to make it easier on my sadly (and hopefully, temporarily) grammar-disabled self.)

I'm baaaack...

Though I'll warn you, right here and now, my meds are having some serious effects on my small motor skills. Also, my sentence structure capabilities are greatly diminished. (Read: I cannot type, spell, or grammar. Forgive me, for I know not what I do.)

If you were here, maybe you'd be lucky enough to see me fall asleep mid-sentence, or maybe wipe some drool out of the corner of my mouth.

I'm kidding.

Actually, I am not. It's a sad, sad state of being when a 36 yr old cancer patient can't keep her eyes open or her mouth shut, but there it is.

I, for one, am just grateful for pain meds that allow me to stay in a state of semi-consciousness for most of the day. As most of you know, the surgery was last Tuesday (the 22nd - nine months, to the day, from my last surgery). The incision is only 10 inches long this time, from my ribcage just past my bellybutton. It's still a nasty old incision, staples and all, but those'll come out tomorrow and then I'll be back on track for growing a healthy pink scar down my belly. Ooh-la-la.

Surgery went well. When the surgeons went in, they found that the tumor was not, in fact, on my kidney. It was in my retroperitineal tissue (same site as the tumor of 2010), and was free-floating near my kidney. When it was removed, it was about the size of a baseball (and Mich and the Walton girls have been hoping to make a baseball fan out of me - guess again). When the first scan was done at the end of January, it was measuring at just larger than a dime - kind of an oval sized dime, but dime-sized, nonetheless - and when it came out, not 8 weeks later, it was the size of a baseball. No kidding, liposarcomas are fast growing tumors! (I hate them.)

There are things that are better this time around, there are things that are worse. It's nice to have some kind of expectation of how long pain will last, or what I can or cannot do. At the same time, it is hard, because I know exactly what will hurt, how badly, and for how long. I am very aware of what I can and cannot do.

My life. It is a dichotomy. A surgically created dichotomy.

The good news? My right eye only twitches a few times a day now (versus the almost constant full face twitching I had going on while in the hospital), and I can have all the M&M's I want (I was on a very strict "no M&M's' diet while under the care of the nurses at the hospital - they were little to no fun). So, I'm home. I sleep a lot. When I'm not sleeping, I'm either eating M&M's or Wheat Thins, hobbling about my apartment or pushing my old lady walker around the parking lot. Life is good. Without pain meds every four hours, life is very, very painful, but still... life is good.

My post-op follow-up with the surgeon is tomorrow. He'll take out my staples, press on my stomach and side and make me want to cry and then will most likely tell me everything's normal. I don't have answers yet as far as "what's next?". I don't yet know about the possibility of chemo, or other treatment options. I'll have that appointment with that doctor, most likely next week. I'll keep you posted.

For now, I nap a lot. I mean, a lot. And I eat cheese sauce on toast with corn, because my mommy's here and she knows what food always makes a sick kid feel better. So, I'm back. Still too tired to really talk (esp on the phone - I don't have strong enough air control yet, phone convos wipe me out), but I'm back in my own little corner of the world, taking up residence in my maroon recliner, watching the most recent episode of Castle on hulu. Life is good. Even if it's not totally "normal", it's still good.

The scoop.

Since it seems like all I ever do anymore is update the blog to talk about my darn tumor, I thought that would be a fun thing to do on a Saturday night. (Also, I went to the movie with Ash last night and Chris and Jo are out of town, so my usual weekend go-to girls are leaving me high and dry for something better to do tonight.)

I got the call from my surgeon yesterday. The biopsy results came back in record time. I'm sorry to have to say that the thing that sounded like a pig, and looked like a pig, is in fact a pig. (Pig = Malignant Liposarcoma.) The upside to this, if there is one, is that it is the same type of cancer I spent last Summer fighting. (It's comforting to know that my body just regrew the same stupid tumor. As odd as it may sound, that's better - to me, at least - than knowing my body had gone all radical and had come up with some other kind of cancerous cell mutation.)

So, it's for sure cancer. Again. (For the love! Two times in 12 months? What the heck?) What this means (in the short term): Surgery. ASAP. March 22nd, to be exact. *The treatment plan, post-surgery, is yet to be determined. I spoke with my oncologist's office yesterday and he wants to wait until I have surgery, they know more, he can talk to other doctors, and I can be on the road to surgery-recovery before we head down Treatment Road. I'll meet with him 2-3 weeks after surgery, once he knows more. So... come the first or second week of April, I'll be able to confirm/deny the rumors that I may or may not have to do chemo this time around. For now, it's just surgery. (I say "just surgery", very much tongue-in-cheek. I've been down this road before. Break out the walker and bring on the stool softeners, it's gonna be a long couple months!)

The most recent word on surgery is that I may not, after all, lose an entire kidney. Originally, that was what was discussed, but after the most recent CT (done during the biopsy extravaganza of Wednesday), word is that I may only need to lose a portion of the organ. The tumor is attached to my kidney, but it's not glommed onto it like a barnacle. Most of the tumor is actually out to the side of my kidney, kind of free floating. So... Maybe the whole kidney will be taken, maybe not. My surgeon said he'll what he can to save what he can. He has to get in there to be able to assess the damage and know for sure. I'm fine with having one and one-half kidneys. I figure, in the over all scheme of things, my having six wisdom teeth will balance that out. I'll be half an organ short, but carry a credit of two extra molars. My body. It is a mysterious (and sometimes strange) thing.

*The one thing I have been told, for certain, concerning treatment: No radiation. (Halle-freakin-lujah! Because have I told you how much I did not love the radiation?) Yeah, I was told that radiation is for sure out, because the tumor was regrowth in the same area and they won't irradiate an area more than once. (Something about the possibility of becoming radioactive... Chernobyl and Dr. Bruce Banner came up in conversation. I kid.) But really, radiation is a definite no, and that's a major win. Keep your fingers crossed, heads bowed, energy focused - whatever it is that you do - that I won't have to do chemo. (Even though one of the girls at work did give me an address for a sweet wig shop here in Phoenix, I'd really rather not go that route if I can avoid it.)

Of course, I'll post more as I learn more. Thanks for staying tuned.

The low-down on the biopsy

So, today I had a $5,000 medical procedure done. It was awesome. The procedure itself took about 10 minutes. The prep-work? That was another story. I checked in at 6:00 - did paperwork until about 6:30 - was given the opportunity to pee in a cup (it kills me that I have to have a pregnancy test every single time I go to a hospital ... I'm telling you, folks, it's not a possibility in the world I live in) and changed into a lovely gown at 6:45 - at 7:00, I was in bed while a nice nurse named Trish was chatty in an effort to distract me while she took a half dozen or so vials of blood and put an IV in my am (her plan to distract me didn't work so well, I had to close my eyes so I didn't get pukey, not that anything could have come up, seeing as how I'd been on a total fast for over 8 hours by that point) - at 7:30, Jo was allowed to come back and hang out for a few minutes until I got wheeled to a remote corner of the hospital - at 8:00, I was in a CT room, being transferred from my rolly-cart-bed to a CT bed - I was then covered in EKG-like stickers so they could monitor my vitals before-during-after the procedure, packed in with pillows and heated blankets and then run through the CT tube a couple good times as tests - doc came in about half an hour later, numbed my back with a Novocaine-like substance (seriously, it felt just like getting a shot at the dentist) and then proceeded to stick me in the back with what I would assume was a very sharp and long needle (bless him for hiding it from me) approximately five times (the first few samples were "stringy" - ewh - not sure what that means, but ewh) - the doctor threw a regular band aid on the puncture site at the end of the procedure, told me I can take it off tomorrow - I was rolled back onto my rolly-cart-bed and escorted (by which I mean: pushed) back to Recovery, where I was allowed to order some breakfast off The Most Incredible Hospital Menu of all time. (Cinnamon roll, bacon and apple juice, thanks.) I took a nap for about an hour before they let me come home, then I slept for another three or so hours once my trusty chauffeur got me home.

All in all, it was a pretty cushy - albeit expensive - day. (Thank HEAVEN for insurance! Amen.)

The procedure itself? It was pretty much cake. I did have a slight issue with a sweet little nursing student who tried to tell me that it doesn't hurt to bend your arm, even when you have an IV in it. (I contributed to her education by telling her that she doesn't get to tell me what hurts and what doesn't. Snappish, I know, but what the heck?!) Other than that, it was all very low-key. The highlight of the morning was the disclosure I had to sign before they did the procedure. It made me giggle, and I honestly thought about asking for a blank copy, just so I could quote it here. Unfortunately, I was pretty heavily medicated, so that thought never progressed to action. I'll paraphrase, please forgive my lack of legal/medical jargon. Apparently, biopsies can have an effect on kidney function. Something about internal bleeding... I don't remember all the details, but it did crack me up that I had to sign a form that listed lessened kidney function as a possible side effect of a procedure that I was having performed before they most likely would remove my kidney, regardless of results. My immediate thought? "I'm pretty sure the malignant growth attached to my kidney is affecting it more than this procedure will." True story.

So, there's the scoop on biopsies. Easy-peasy. They cover the wound up with a regular old band aid. And the disclosure is amusing.

Results take 2-3 days to turn, so it will be early-middle next week before I have any answers as to the results, or anything more than a guess as to what comes next. Stay tuned for more info. I'll update as soon as I have intel. (Yeah, I said "intel". Guess who's been re-watching Burn Notice, Season 3, in her spare time?)

So... I'm a stress eater.

Anyone who knows me, knows this. I have absolutely no guilt reflex associated with food. The calorie count is moot, esp when I'm eating something that is delicious and pleasing to the taste. I'm pretty sure this comes, to quote a favorite movie, "from my mother's side of the family". (Jude's been known to mix a cup of cake batter up and then eat it with a spoon, for a quick chocolate fix. It's true. I come by it honestly.)

I love food, especially food that is based in the Chocolate Food Category. (Yeah, I have my own food pyramid. Don't judge.) But when I'm stressing about something, I eat more than usual. As in, more often and in greater quantities. Sort of like a crazed, mad woman. One could liken it to chain smoking. For example, yesterday I pounded down almost a lb of peanut M&M's in under 12 minutes at work. One after another, before I'd swallowed what I'd chewed, I had another M&M poised and ready to pop into my mouth. And when they were gone, I was a little bit amazed that I'd eaten them so quickly. ... And then I was sad that they were gone. I mean, sad.

See, the thing is that I'm a little stressed by all this talk of The Return of the Tumor. And while I do my best to maintain a positive outlook and a belief that this will all work out (somehow) and I'm sure that I will be fine, there are a lot of questions that I don't have answers to just yet. (It's hard for me not to know what's going on in my life, control freak that I am.) I hate waiting, and there's nothing worse than waiting alone. Which is why, this weekend, I enlisted my friends Ben & Jerry to keep my company while I waited. Great plan, right? Until I wound up staring at the bottom of an ice cream carton and realized that Ben & Jerry would no longer be able to keep me company. Or provide me solace. It was a dark moment, I tell you. Thank heaven for my friend, Microwave Popcorn, (yes, I just capitalized that, like it's a proper noun) or I'd have never made it through the day. Honestly.

Tonight, fresh out of peanut M&M's and my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and on the verge of an emotional break, I ransacked my pantry, looking for something edible. Something soothing. Something chocolate.

And this is what I found.

A box Thin Mints? All to myself?! Major win!

I ate 4 cookies shy of one tube in about 20 minutes. It's true. And then my stomach told me that was enough, so I stopped.

Two hours later, I'm hoping my stomach stopped me because it was full, and not that the "must stop now" feeling was a premonition of food-poisoning-to-come. This box of Girl Scout cookies is ... well, was, actually ... over 5 years old. (When I moved here in 2006, I brought this box with me, and just never got around to eating it.) Here's hoping the preservatives those little Girl Scouts use are effective. :-)

*I'm going to the store tomorrow to buy a big bag of peanut M&M's. Oh, and probably some ice cream. As delicious as those darn cookies were, I'm thinking that taking my intestinal life into my hands when I went on a stress-eating-chocolate-binge might not have been such a bright idea, after all. Oh, brother. When will I ever learn?

It's Ba-ack...

To be read in a sing-songy (semi-creepy) tone, of course.

Some of you may recall a little post I made last summer about my body growing an abnormally large tumor. I'm so sorry to have to say that it's back. (The good news? This time, they caught it while it was little. To date, it's about the size of a chocolate Easter egg. ... Much better than the size of a watermelon, right?)

I had my first 90 follow-up CT at the end of January and met with my oncologist on Feb 11th to get the results. He told me at that meeting that I was a vibrant young woman (I told him that I loved him for that). He also told me that it looked like the cancer may be back (I told him that I still loved him, even though that is the opposite of what I wanted to hear). He advised that there was a growth on/near my left kidney that appeared to be in the resection bed (where they'd scraped the original tumor from). He wanted to do an MRI to get a better, clearer picture of the mass. I had the MRI last Friday, and met with my surgeon today to get the results of the MRI. The MRI shows conclusively that there's a tumor on my left kidney. (Look, I'll show you a picture. Don't judge the arrow pointing to the little gray/tumor area just to the right of my kidney. I do not have photo shop skillz. Obviously.)



So, that's the little egg shaped tumor that's attached to my kidney. It must come out. (And by "it", I mean the kidney.) Per my sweet doctor, he wants to take the kidney out, so this can't happen again. Before he takes the kidney out, however, he wants to do a biopsy to make sure that this tumor on my kidney is, in fact, a recurrence of liposarcoma. The last thing he wants to do is remove a vital organ if it's something other than regrowth of the same cancer I spent all summer fighting. The plan is to have a biopsy done next week. After he gets the results of the biopsy and can confirm if it's the same type of tumor/cancer, or if it's something new, decisions will be made about surgery and possible treatment plans.

The best news I've heard all day/week/month is that if it's the same kind of tumor/cancer, he should be able to just remove my kidney and call it a day. As in, no follow-up treatment. (Can you hear the angels singing? Because I sure can!) This, of course, isn't a for sure done deal until we have more information - and is subject to change up until after surgery, after my oncologist has been able to review everything and make a final decision. But for now, the thought of only having to recover from surgery is enough to make me weep for joy.

So, it's back. But it's definitely not worst-case-scenario. Yay!

I'm incredibly grateful for doctors who had a much more aggressive treatment plan than I thought made sense, because they caught something that had grown in the last 90 days. I'm grateful for office staff who know my face and remember my name. I'm grateful for doctors who care about my body and my spirits, that both of my doctors have delivered news and then asked "How are you?". I love them, and that makes it so much easier this time around.

I'm grateful for my family, and for my friends. I have always known that I had the most incredible people in my life. The last year has proven that to me on so many levels. Thanks, all, for being the kind of people you are. I love you, and I'm so glad I have you! (Even when I don't have the cancer, I love you. But somehow, when a girl hears some truly hard news, it makes the love all that much stronger.) You're all my favorite! (And I'm not just saying that because I may need someone to come over and vacuum in March. And April. And maybe May. I promise.)

Stay tuned for further updates and/or service opportunities. :-)

2010: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

As the year draws to a close, and hinges at a beginning, I am grateful.

I am grateful that this year is over, because it has been unspeakably hard. I am equally grateful that it happened, because I have a new perspective on life, and a greater appreciation for the importance of finding joy in the day-to-day, regardless of what that day holds.

I am grateful for the refining and defining summer that I had in 2010.

I am more grateful than ever before for my friends and for my family. I had literally dozens of people come out of the woodwork, who offered and then forced me to let them help me. I've always known I had great family and friends. I am now humbled by how truly great they are.

I am grateful for the tiny glimpse that 2010 gave me into the number of lives that have been affected by mine. It is amazing to me, the sheer number of people who have called, texted, emailed, written, Facebooked or otherwise contacted me in the past few months to check in, touch base, and let me know they care. George Bailey, I am not. There was no Clarence to show me what the world would be like without me, but one of the greatest blessings of my life has been to be able to see and feel the reach I have had, as people reached out and back to me in the past six months. My life will never be the same. Thank you, all of you, for giving me that gift this year.

I am grateful for the clarity that being sick brought me. That which has always been precious to me (family, friends, the gospel - life) has become truly treasured.

I am grateful for my health. I am grateful for where I have been, because I survived it. I am grateful for wherever it is that I am going, because now I know that I am strong enough to go there.

I am grateful for my life, for this year, and for this holiday season. Having lived through the hardest summer/fall of my life has made this the most incredible winter I have ever seen.

2010 gave me many, many gifts. It has been the hardest year of my life. It has been the best year of my life. And with that said, I welcome 2011. May it carry all of the joy of 2010 forward, and leave all of the crap (stool softeners and all) behind.

Amen.

What I'm doing this weekend

That's right.

I'm going to Disneyland. And renting a wheelchair. I have special needs, and I don't care who knows it! (Also, rumor is that if you have a wheelchair, you go to the head of every line. Of course, I'm pretty sure the doctor's note I have will do that for me, too... So, maybe I won't rent a wheelchair. I'm gonna see how long I can stand/walk before I make the decision.)

Viva la Disney, people!

* Artwork courtesy of Judy Evans. (She called this "Laurie at Disneyland, with California hair" - because our hair gets WAY curlier in CA than it is in AZ.)

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.

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. :-)

We're famous!

That's right, we're famous. And yeah, that's pretty much a big, fat "royal we". (Since Darth Vader was long ago incinerated, I am the only living creature who can enjoy the fame.)

Get this. I saw my surgeon today and asked, just for kicks, how big the largest tumor he'd ever removed had been. He smiled his smirky little smile (those of you who've met the good doctor can envision this, I am sure) and said ... "Years ago, I took a really big tumor out of an older gentlemen. It was big. It was really big. But yours was bigger." Awesome! I told him I'd felt a little like I'd won the tumor lottery, knowing that I'd had the biggest tumor in his life. He laughed, outright. (This is a major win. Love the doc like I do, he is not a laugher as much as he's a smirker.)

One thing led to another, with all our tumor/cancer talk, and as we were talking about both the size of the tumor and the chance of return, he said something about the panel of doctors at the cancer conference having said that radiation should decrease the chance of return.

What?

What was that?

There was a panel of doctors talking about my tumor at a cancer conference?

Why, yes. Yes, there was.

It turns out that one of my many oncologists (my new life - it cracks me up, how many 35 yr olds do you know who have a team of oncologists? I mean really...) presented my case at the cancer conference, and there was a panel of doctors who sat with him and discussed treatment options. Across the board, radiation had been the prescribed treatment. ... It's good to know that I'm not wasting my time, lying on that radiation table for 10 minutes of my life every Monday-Friday.

When I called my mom to tell her the great news - that one of her kids finally has a serious claim to fame - she said "You're a freak." My response? "I'm not going to take that personally. It's not like you're a medical professional." Hers? "No, but I do know a little something about genetics." Hahaha!

So, we're famous, Darth and I. (In cancer circles, anyway.) I really did win the cancer lottery. I have a 13 inch scar, 5 tattoos, and was the subject of much discussion at the most recent cancer conference. The only thing that could make my life better? If I knew if I'd been added to a medical journal. I'll have to see what I can do about that.

It's awesome to be famous.

The End.

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.

Oh, the things you use your stomach muscles for...

As we all know, I am a lover of lists. And this one has been going strong (in my head, anyway) for a few weeks. So, I thought I'd share it with you - in part, because it's informational, but mostly because it cracks me the heck up, some of the stuff I can't do because it makes my bellybutton hurt.

So, having recently suffered a 13 inch incision in my abdomen that has rendered my stomach muscles totally non-existent, here are a list of things that I cannot do.

The list of things that are not surprising:

Laughing, crying, coughing, sneezing (I feel like I just listed 4 of the 7 dwarfs - ha!)

Bending or twisting at the waist

Lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk (or a half a bag of ice, I've found)

Tying my own shoes

Putting on a bra that fastens in the back

Sleeping on my side

Lying down and/or getting out of bed. Period. (It's horrible and, by far, the hardest thing I have to do all day long.)

Driving a car

Driving one of those super cool motorized car/carts at the WalMart

Pulling open a car door - whether it's to get in, or shut it after I'm in

Blow drying my hair (still not an option at this point in time, so I'm a total frizz ball)

Putting my own tennis balls on the back of Ye Olde Walker

The list of things that are surprising and a bit of a crack up:

Twisting open a shampoo bottle

Turning on the water in the shower

Twisting the neck of the faucet in the kitchen sink to move the water stream

Getting a pan of cake - or bacon - out of the oven (but I suffer because I want the food, dangit!)

Wearing shoes that have any kind of heel/elevation to them

Stirring a pan of anything - including scrambled eggs - on the stove

Replacing the toilet paper roll

*Opening the silverware drawer

Reading a hardback book (paperbacks are fine, but a hardback, bound book is too heavy)

Walking without something to hold on to (for weeks, I had to hold my arms out - down, but straight out at the side with my fingers outstretched whenever I walked sans walker, so I could balance - I tell you, I looked like a really tall toddler who'd just learned how to walk)

Riding in a car (gravity pulls your body when the car turns and without a core to stabilize the bod, turning corners has been agony)

Opening a Ziploc brand baggie (they're tougher than you'd think, man)

Folding a towel

Putting a pillow case on a pillow (excruciating)

Cutting meat, like on a plate with my dinner (how nuts is that?)

Turning a key in a lock, as well as opening the deadbolt from inside my apartment

And... I'm sorry to have to say it... trimming and/or repainting my toenails (the perfect excuse to go for a pedicure, methinks - if only I could drive myself somewhere to get one)

And there's a lot more where that comes from. On a daily basis, I do something that makes me twinge and I think "Who'd have thought you'd use stomach muscles for that?". It's been an eye-opening (and stomach wrenching) experience, I tell you. The hardest thing has been that I want to laugh when I find something new/surprising that makes me hurt - but laughing makes me hurt, so I have to abstain.

Seriously, this surgery recovery period has been full of surprises - abdominal and otherwise. The good news? When I know I'm going to do something hard (like go on a walk or take food out of the oven), I can put on my binder (what Jenni lovingly referred to as "doctor issued Spanx" when she was here), and then I have support/fake stomach muscles so I can do what would otherwise be impossible. Who'd have thought that a big elastic belt could do so much to hold a body together? That binder is a blessing. I'd be dead in the water without it!

*This reminded me of a story. A couple weeks ago, I'd summoned JP to come and perform some manly duties at my apartment (I needed the fridge moved, among other things that neither my mom or I were strong enough to handle). When he was here, we were in the kitchen and I needed to open the silverware drawer to get something. I winced in obvious pain and he asked if I was alright. I responded that I was fine, but "Who knew you used stomach muscles to open drawers?!". Totally deadpan, he said "It looks like you have a new workout, once you're up to it". Right, like anyone could ever get totally ripped by opening/closing/opening a silverware drawer. Ha!