August 2

Reunited, and it feels so good....

Just kidding. It didn't really feel all that great, but I did it anyway.

That's right, I took the walker out for a spin this morning. (Something I hadn't done since last Thursday night's walk.) I tell you what, getting sick on top of recovering from surgery was not a good idea. (Like I planned it.) I've been so tired and weak that walking from my recliner to my kitchen sink and back would wind me, so I called it quits on the walking for a while. But yesterday afternoon I started to breathe a little bit easier, and when I woke up this morning, I thought I'd see if I was up to a little walk down the block.

It turns out that I was. (Sorta.) Mom and I walked our almost-a-mile walk, and I did it in just over 30 min. (I know that still sounds pathetic to most of the free world, but I'm telling you that it used to take an hour to walk that route, so I'm considering it a win. Esp after having been able to nothing but sit/lie still since Friday of last week.)

And yes, this is a new/different walker than I've had in years past. As you may recall, that walker had a few... uhm... issues. Having to replace the tennis balls on a regular basis being one of them. The morning after I came home from the hospital (one month ago today, thankyouverymuch), Mom and I went for a walk around the grounds at my apartment complex and my walker was ALL OVER THE PLACE. (Seriously. It wouldn't drive in a straight line. One end seemed a little higher than the other. The wheels kept sticking.) On our way back to my apartment, she said "Let's put Dad on a new walker before he leaves town". And so we did. And what a beaut this new walker is, with her wire basket, 8 inch wheels and metallic red paint... I love her! (Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to being walker-free in the next two weeks, as I prepare to go back into the real - working - world... at least part time, but I have love-love-LOVED having this new walker!) Having four (count them, 8 inch) wheels instead of two itty-bitty wheels and tennis balls has been such a blessing.

Thanks, Mom & Dad, for buying me such a sweet ride! ... When I was 37 and needed a new walker. ... You're the best!

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.

Like the pioneer children...

We walk and walk and walk and walk and walk. And we see the most beautiful things on our walks, folks. Come along, I will show you.

The flowers.

Snapdragons. They scream "Spring!" at me. I love them.



Petunias. They always remind me of my Grammy & Grandad. Their smell transports me through time and space, it really does.



Johnny Jump Ups. How cute are they? Little mini-pansies. A-freakin-dorable.



Irises. Who knew you could grow bulb plants in the desert? Who knew?!



Geraniums. I like red and super blossomy flowers. A lot. This makes geraniums one of my favorite flowers.



The bushes/hedges/etc...

Ahhhh... Bougainvillea, I love you so. Had you ever gotten close enough to notice that the "flowers" are actually just red leaves? I hadn't. Super cool. (And check out the awesome flower-shaped stamen.)



Would you take a look at these red beauties? I want a bush of them at my house. I mean, at my apartment. On my balcony, if possible. (Too bad it isn't possible. Because now that I've seen these, I really (REALLY) want them close to me.)

I'm in love.



The thing is, I'm also deeply in love with the orange version of the same flowering bush. IN LOVE, I tell you. Would you take a look at that? Oh my goodness gracious!



And how cute are these little orangey-pinky flowers on the hedge at my actual apartment complex? Adorable. I adore them. (Because they're adorable. Get it? ... Cracking myself up over here.)



These pink budded scrub-brushy plants are all over the place. I enjoy them, esp when the sun's hitting them and they look especially pink. Such fun little native Arizonan plants, methinks.



But did you know that these little pink guys actually BLOSSOM? Check out the yellow-orangey little flowers just budding out all over this thing. Beautiful!



The Trees.

These trees kill me. I mean, they do. They kill me with their yellow blossoms. Have you ever seen a more gorgeous yellow tree branch? I submit that you have not.



And because I am IN LOVE with the yellow blossoms, let me show you the same tree from a different angle.

Oh my gosh. In love!



And why do I love these trees? (Besides how incredibly awesome they look when they're all blossomed out in an almost florescent yellow?) Check out the blossom. It's tiny and intricate and delicate and... GORGEOUS! Those little red dots? I just think they're incredible!



Look at this. It's like a tree mated with a carnation... Awesome!



Except that when you look a little closer, they're less like carnations and more like jasmine. (But they're not jasmine, they're blossoms on a tree. Crazy!)



And here they are, just a little bit closer. How amazing is the center of that little flower? My stars. It blows my mind.



These purple trees are some of my favorites. They remind me of lilac bushes, but different. You know, since they're trees.



The blossoms are thick and clustered at the end of the branches. Stunning. The color? Unbelievable and almost unnatural. I'm in love...



Would you take a look at this tree? The size of it alone is pretty impressive, but wait until you see a close-up of all those pink flowers that are blossoming all over it.



Honestly, have you ever seen a prettier flower on a tree? Have you? Well, have you? ... I have not. It about took my breath away.



We saw this lovely orange tree on our way home from the park on Sunday. Isn't that awesome?



Check out the orange flowers. They're like little orange trumpets. (I totally thought of Kimmie. I have a Kimmie/trumpet association that cannot be denied. The End.)



And here's an even closer shot at the little orange flowers. Can you see the delicate, almost translucent film at the base of that little flower? Gorgeous!



This is what we lovingly refer to as: The Crazy Red Tree.



Seriously, check it out. Here's a closer shot. It's crazy.



Those red "flowers"? They're just fuzz! ... This tree is nuts.



The Sunsets.

Ahhh... The sunsets. You can't beat an Arizona sunset, you just can't. How beautiful are these? Honestly. They just get prettier, day after day after day. Delish!







I know this was a super long post, folks. It's because we go on a lot of super long walks. Also, there are a lot of super awesome flowers and foliage out there.

This world that we live in is a beautiful place. An absolutely stunningly (and often surprisingly) beautiful place.

The End.

Ye Olde Granny Walker, Revisited.

As some of you may recall, I had surgery for removal of a malignant liposarcoma last year. (Also, last month. But right now, we're talking about last year.) My friend Jenni came in July to take care of me (and also to sing in a choir, but I like to think she came just for me).

Jen's a trooper and a half. She brought me water, she did my laundry, she walked me around the block. We shopped. We talked, we laughed, we cried. It was a great weekend.



While she was here, she and Captain Forearms put this fabulous basket on my walker.



The basket is a blessing, the likes of which very few people are lucky enough to know. Behold, it can hold not only a water bottle, but kleenex, lotion, keys, a replacement tennis ball (just in case you have a blow-out mid-walk) and non-meltable candy. (Also, it usually holds my phone. The only reason you can't see the phone is that I was using it to take this picture.) The basket is fan-freaking-tastic, and I can't recommend it highly enough to any of you who may be wondering what to get your 86 year old grandmother for Christmas. A walker basket. That's what you should buy your granny. Trust me, she'll love you forever. (I mean, I'm sure she already will. But the walker basket would ensure such a thing. I promise.)


Here's a true life representation of the smile your grandmother would smile if she had a walker basket. Trust me, I know. She would love it.



And if you're wondering exactly how to install such a walker basket, let me know and I'll put you in touch with Dr. and Mrs. Captain Forearms. I'm sure, for a nominal fee, they'd be more than happy to provide some instruction in the matter. (Look, between them, they have 8 children to feed and clothe. Don't judge. Every little bit counts.)



(Aren't the shoes fantastic? I love them! I love her. I love my walker basket.)

Amen.

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.

My favorite part of yesterday

Yesterday afternoon my friend Jo came and picked me up and took me home with her, because I still can't drive and I was needing an outing. (So what if I call 4 hours at Jo's house, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking water and eating trail mix (trail mix heavy on the m&m's, but we still like to think it's healthy) while we talk about everything under the sun an outing? Listen, it's a good time. You all should try it. You'd love it, too, I'm sure.)

Anyway, yesterday I went to Jo's. And it was, as always, pretty much the highlight of my day. We always have a good time. When I got there, Roomie (11), Rook (9) and Maggie (2) were home. Maggie shared her Chex Mix with me, one piece at a time. Rook had to tell me about ... oh, crud, I don't even remember what was so important to him. (See? It's a good thing I have no children. I pay such little attention to them when they talk, I would damage them beyond repair.) Roomie sat right down at the table with Jo and me, because she likes to a) listen to everything we say, and b) think she's a grown-up, too. Cili was next door swimming and came home about an hour after I got there.

Now, here's what I love about Cili. (Are you paying attention? Because this is important.) I love basically everything about that kid. Sure, she's a stubborn mule who knows what she wants and won't even think about settling for less. She's a bit of a drama queen and is always one to let you know what she thinks/feels. She's more strong willed and opinionated than most adults I know, and she's 6. We understand each other (and that's not just because we both have a penchant for shiny shirts and black and white accessories). We're basically the same person, only she's little and I'm big. I love her.

When Cili came home from swimming at the neighbor's house (dripping wet, mind you), she came right up to me at the table and leaned in and gave me a big hug. This was the first time I'd actually seen Cili since surgery. I'd been over to Jo's, but Cili was either in the pool or in bed, so I hadn't talked to her in over a month. Normally, I am not a fan of getting hugged by someone who is sticky wet with drippy hair, but for Cili I will make an exception. She leaned in/hugged me for a good long time, until I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her - at which point she was forced to remove herself from me and go and sit across the table from me. (Kids. They crack me up.)

Once Cili was across the table from me, she just sat and watched us talk/laugh. For a good 5 minutes or so, she was just watching us. Then she interrupted with "Laurie, did you change the way you look?". I wasn't sure I'd heard her right, so I asked her what she's said. Again, I got the "Did you change the way you look?" question. Before I could respond (or even be sure what she was talking about?), she looked pointedly at my stomach and said "Because I think you did". Hahaha... It was awesome! I asked her if she thought my stomach looked different. She, looking totally perplexed, said "Yeah. And the rest of you looks different, too. I think you look different.". Which led to a discussion of having had my stomach cut open, then being stitched and stapled back up so I could get better. We had a pretty in-depth and candid discussion of major abdominal surgery, Jo's kids and I.

It was a great day.

But, by far, my favorite part of the day (well, except for going to the store and being able to stock back up on ice and get a hold of some more Havarti cheese) was the 6 yr old who knew who I was... but was confused because I looked different to her. "Did you change the way you look? Because I think you did." Ha! I so love that kid.

One month ago today

One month ago today, I was leaving my house for the hospital. I mean it, exactly one month ago from right now, my friends Jo and Rhonda came and picked me up and we headed over to pick up Christine and we were headed to the hospital for a 9:00 AM check-in. It's surreal to think about everything that's happened and changed since then.

We met my parents and brother Kirk at the Admin office, and Cathy was there by the time I was in pre-op. Here's a pic of my posse (which is what my mom dubbed the group - how cute is she?) in the waiting room while I was in surgery.



I'm so grateful for good friends who came to the hospital - even though I told them time and again that they didn't need to - and then came and visited me again and again. I'm so grateful for my sweet brother who took off work to be there and hold my hand before I went into surgery. Kirk's always been my buddy, since we were little tiny. I wish everyone could have "a brother like that". I'm so grateful for parents who have been there to buy/read/watch anything I want, for a mother who scratched my back (and my legs) and rubbed my feet ad nauseum, for a father who would rather buy too many cucumbers than too little. I am, truly, so blessed.

It's been a month. I can't tell you how nuts it is to realize that, to write that sentence.

Going into surgery was one of the scariest things I've ever done. I knew I had to do it (as much as I'd wished for a magic "tumor be gone" potion, prayer or blessing, I knew the only way to get rid of the sucker was to cut me open and pull it out), but I was scared out of my mind about having to look at the incision. I was so nervous that it would be goopy and ooozy. (I don't like to see blood, least of all my own.) I hadn't had an awareness that they were going to put tubes down my nose and throat and keep me on IV's for 4 days. I had no idea how badly I would hurt. (And I have a pretty good imagination.) It was crazy. I remember coming out of anesthesia and hearing people talk around me. I'd hear one person say "is this the 22 lb surgery?", and then I'd hear another person answer, "22.5" with heavy emphasis on the .5, then the first person would say, incredulously, "22.5 lbs?!". (Like another half a pound really makes that big of a difference after you hit 22 lbs, really.) I had no idea that they were talking about me. It was surreal. My surgeon said, after surgery, that the tumor was the size of a watermelon.

I may never be able to eat watermelon again.

When the girls came in to see me post-surgery, they came in with flowers. Of course I cried, because I love flowers (and also because I love them). Every time I woke up for the next day or so, I had another floral delivery. I had flowers by my bed, on the shelf in front of my bed, and lining the windowsill in my room. They were a little bit of heaven in a really hard place. I love flowers. Thank you, again, to everyone who sent them.

I remember thinking, day 2 in the hospital, that I'd rather die than keep feeling that level of pain. And then the nurse made me sit up in bed, and I felt pain on a whole new level. And then she made me clear my throat and cough. And then I really wanted to die.

I could have morphine every two hours. It would take about 20 min to kick in and my pain level would go down for about 45 minutes to an hour. The last 40 minutes before I could have it again were agony. I asked my nurse if there was supposed to be a point where I felt no pain, because even when it was better for those 40 minutes, I still hurt. She kinda slipped and told me they weren't sure how high of a dosage to give me - they'd never had a surgery/tumor like mine. I know it's sick, but it made me proud, even in substantial pain, to hear that. Like I'd won some kind of contest or something. (I know, I'm such a weirdie.)

On day 3, they gave me a different drug that was 20x stronger than morphine. It was better, but I still hurt - a lot. I was living on ice chips and chapstick was my best friend. Also, on day 3, I was able to get a hold of my mascara. I couldn't sit up, so I put it on lying in bed (without a mirror), but I felt a lot better once it was there. Also, on day 3, I got the official word from my doctors that the results were in and the tumor had been malignant. My parents called my brothers, and Kirk and Spencer both came running to be with me. Spencer brought more flowers, and Kirk brought hair bows. I love them. Two oncologists came in and met with us and explained the treatment plan. The things I remember from that: the first telling me that I wouldn't need chemo, and the second saying something about radiation treatments 5 days a week. Also, I remember thinking that I was so glad that the second doctor was going to be my doctor, because he was better looking than the first. (This is hilarious to me, because he's ... uhm .... not all that good looking. I had a hard time not laughing out loud in my first appointment with him, that that's what I'd thought that day in the hospital.)

On day 4, I was cleared for food. They took the tube out of my nose/throat and I was able to eat the best freaking fish that I've ever had in my life. (Seriously. It was SO good. I wish I could go back and order that fish for dinner, like the hospital was a restaurant. But alas...) By then, I was walking the halls with my first hospital issued walker. It was awesome, I could walk for 10 minutes and then I'd want to pass out. My friend Rhonda came that morning and stayed until the nurses kicked her out that night. She brought new flowers, re-arranged the original arrangements to get rid of the wilty guys. And then she came back again the next day and did it all over again. She, along with my mother, saved me. That night I had more visitors (Ash & Erika, and later, Christine). I was starting to feel a little more human.

On day 5, I was up and walking the halls for 12 minutes at a time, twice a day. (I know - awesome fitness plan.) Ronnie came back - this time, armed with banana popcicles, because she knows I love them. Nurse Liz brought me a cherry limeade from Sonic. I ordered the fish again, because I loved it so. Rhonda brought a book, so she could read while I took a nap. That night the Petersons came, and we all had a surprise visit from Christine with her new boyfriend. J and Ash stayed late, Rhonda stayed later. I had been surrounded by my people and was feeling more like myself. (Also, I'd been on percocet and ativan - my two best friends - for 24 hours, and was feeling substantially less pain.)

Day 6 was a longer, harder day. (Maybe because I didn't order the fish for lunch, but I don't know.) I was more sore that day, probably because I had been up multiple times the day before. I'd had visitors, so I'd talked and laughed (my fake Katharine Hepburn laugh, but still...) more than usual. I was tired, and I was sore. But I still had the best nurses in the world. Both Lori and Liz would come in and check on me throughout the day. Which I know is their job, but they would just come in and talk. I found out that Lori had adopted her boys, and that Liz had just gotten married in December. They were my friends - and not just because they could give me hardcore narcotics every 4 hours. I loved them.

On day 7, I was advised that I could take an actual shower. I don't know what was scarier, when the nurse took the bandage off (she told me that I had to be able to look at the incision) - or actually getting into a shower. Either way, the morning was fraught with fear and danger. ... But I showered. And I washed my hair. And I survived. And I was released and came home a couple hours after the harrowing shower experience. Glory be and hallelujah, I was able to get into a car and come home. And when we got here, I was able to walk up the stairs and get into my recliner. Jo came and babysat me while my parents went to the store and bought provisions... And thus began the post-hospital recovery.

My mom was here for the first 3 weeks, and I don't know what I'd have done without her. She slept in a chair in my hospital room the week I was in the hospital, and on my couch for the first two weeks I was home. She is the best back scratching, foot rubbing, dish doing, water-turning-on-ing, door opening, listening, leg shaving, meds and food fetching, combination chauffeur and servant of all time. I love her. I always have, but now... Well, now, I have such a greater appreciation for her. Truly, she is the most selfless person I'm sure I'll ever know, and because she was here and because she took such great care of me, I am feeling so much better.

I am amazed that it's been a month. I am humbled at how many visitors I've had, how many volunteers to help me there have been. I have the best friends, and most incredible family. Ever.

I am amazed that the surgery recovery has gone as smoothly as it has (save the issue with the ever-present need for stool softeners and laxatives). I am grateful that my incision wasn't ever goopy and oozy - that at the most, I had to have a band-aid over my bellybutton for a week. It took me a while to work up my strength, but now I can not only wash my own hair, but also shave and lotion my own legs. This week I've been able to walk a mile at a time without my walker.

Thirty days ago today, I had major surgery. This morning, I got myself out of bed, made my own breakfast, walked 2 miles and then sat down with my laptop - all by 8:00 AM. I feel so much better, so much stronger, than I had any reason to think I would 4 short weeks after surgery.

I am amazed. And grateful. And amazed.

Because every lady needs to accessorize

My friend Jenni's here for the weekend (which is SO FLIPPING FUN, btw), taking care of my needs. She's filled my ice water many times, held my bag of Munchies so I could just reach in and grab a snack (she's even eaten the pretzels that I've thrown back into said bag of Munchies, because I am not a pretzel loving fool unless they're covered in chocolate). She's a Class A servant folks, I tell you.

But the most impressive thing she's done since she's been here has been to add a little something to Ye Olde Granny Walker. Yesterday, while I was taking my daily 4 hour nap, she and her friend (I shall him Captain Forearms) hit the Home Depot and came up with the makings of this fabulous little basket.

Behold, the new and improved walker. Ooh-la-la, yes?



You may notice the handy-dandy tennis balls on the back legs. They're pretty hot, right? The thing is, they're funny and functional. In the first week that I was home from the hospital, I walked right through the original plastic coating and was sending metal shavings through the parking lot as I toddled on my morning and night walks. At the time, my mom and I thought it was cheap/thin plastic that had coated the walker feet. We were a little horrified that the manufacturer of the walker didn't put more into protecting their product. So we (by which I mean: she) went and bought some tennis balls to see if that would make a difference.

This is what we found: after 3-4 times up and down the street, I'd walk a hole right though the tennis balls. (Which translates into: it was not, in fact, substandard plastic that the manufacturer had used in production. I'm just really rough on walkers.) Check it.



In the last 10 days, this is how many times I've had to have new feet (tennis balls) added to the walker:

Monday July 5th - Spencer put tennis balls on
Wednesday July 7th - Jason put rubber feet on
Thursday July 8th - Dean put more tennis balls on
Saturday July 10th - Kirk added yet more tennis balls
Monday July 12th - Mom switched out two more tennis balls
Wednesday July 14th - Mom put yet another set of tennis balls on the walker
Friday July 16th - she doesn't know it yet, but Jen's replacing the balls AGAIN

So, what I'm saying here is that a) tennis balls last longer than rubber feet (did you notice that the rubber feet that JP put on on a Wed night had to be replaced on Thursday - they lasted for one walk - awesome), also, b) if you were ever thinking about buying stock in tennis balls, this would be the time. Seriously.

Before & Afters

For those of you who hadn't seen me in the days leading up to surgery... I bring you some fun before/after shots.



Do you see how much I wasn't kidding, when I said I was looking big and pregnant? It was pretty awesome, right?

In fact, here's a fun little story for you. The day before I had surgery (the day these pictures were taken, incidentally), I went to lunch with some girlfriends and about halfway through our meal, the server came to check on us - you know, the standard "how does everything taste, can I get you anything else?" routine - and she thought she'd make a little small talk with me and ask when I was due. (The poor thing, she had no idea what she was getting herself into.) I was a little slow on the uptake (I'd known for some time that I looked preggers, but this was the first time anyone else - well, a stranger, anyway - had acknowledged it), my response was to kind of skew my face up and say "Well....". She cut me off with a quickly uttered "Oh, please tell me that you're pregnant and I didn't just say you look pregnant when you aren't" apology. I laughed (this was back when I could laugh) and thanked for validating that I looked pregnant (many of my friends had tried to tell me that I didn't look preggers, and in fact, didn't even look any different ... both of which were sweet, but outright lies), and then I told her that it wasn't a baby, but a tumor, and I was having it out the next day. You should have seen her face. The poor thing! First she had intimated that I was pregnant, and I wasn't - then I told her that my "baby" was a tumor. She was horrified. I just laughed, again, pretty hard. (You know me, so you can believe it.) Poor little Olive Garden server. Bless her sweet heart... I'll have to go back sometime soon and show her that the tumor didn't kill me, and then I'll order the Steak Gorgonzola and all will be right in the world...

Anyway, so I looked pregnant. I mean.... big and pregnant, with the rock hard stomach and everything. Here's a lovely side shot of my lying on the couch. Check out that tummy. Ha!




And then I had surgery and they took my 22.5 lb tumor out of my body and I was a changed woman.



This is not the most fabulous picture of me, please know that I know this. (But how awesome is my fuzzy baby-bird hair? It's been humid and I like to nap, and I don't like to re-do my pony when I wake up. So there.) But still... holy moly, I am a changed woman. I went to the doc last week and they weighed me for the first time since my initial tumor-finding doctor appointment the week of Memorial Day, and I was 38 lbs lighter last week than I was exactly a month before. (I wish I'd thought to have them weigh me prior to surgery, so I'd know how much I'd weighed right before they took Darth Vader out of me, but I can't turn back time, so the number 38 will have to do.)

I wish I could do a new side shot for you - to show off my now non-preggers belly - but I am still unable to lie on my side. (It may take up to 3 months before I can lie on my side again. It's tragic. And debilitating, as I am, by nature, a side sleeper. But oh, well. I'm alive, so whatever.)

Anyway, that's the old/new me. I mean... I'm still the same me, but that's my old tummy and my new-ish tummy. It's surreal to have gone from having a huge bump of a tummy down to having an actual waist again. It's super weird to have your body change overnight. (I imagine this is what it's like for you women who've birthed actual children.) Now, I'm not going to recommend this as the best/easiest way to lose weight (you would be amazed - or possibly horrified, as I have been - at the number of people who've told me that "this was probably the easiest 20 lbs you've ever lost" ... I wouldn't go straight to "easy", I have a 13 inch incision down my stomach and I eat percocet like they're candy to help with pain), but it has been amazing to have my body go through this crazy transformation in less than a month. I just look forward to the day when I can wear an actual bra again. (It's ridiculous, what you don't appreciate until you have an incision the size of Rhode Island down your torso that makes it pure misery to wear proper undergarments.)