Zuzu's Petals!

Since I cut my hair off to barely past my shoulders, I am no longer able to pull it back into the Ma Kettle/Madam Curie bun. I now have to pull it into two little bunnies on the top of my head if I want it contained. This results in a particular look. Behold:

I look like Zuzu!

I don't know that I've ever been happier to look like anyone in all of my live-long life.

My word, I love It's a Wonderful Life! If you haven't seen it, watch it now. I don't care that it's Easter time and it's a Christmas movie - it's a fabulous, life-changing movie, no matter what time of the year you watch it. Plus, as you've just seen, I look like Zuzu, so it'll remind you of me. And what's not to love about that?

The best part of the "no chemo" news?

I could (FINALLY!) cut my hair.



It had been too long for a while, but on the off chance that I'd need it for a wig, I felt the need to keep it long and flowing.

But guess what? No chemo = no need for a wig made of my own hair. Which translates directly into "chop, chop!". Six inches, gone.

I am, once again, overwhelmed at the thickness and curliness of my hair. (It's not like it's thin and wispy when it's long, but when it's short? HOLY MOLY, I have a ton of hair. A ton of unruly hair, to be more precise.) Some day I'll actually curl it, or take a round brush to it and it'll look a little more "done", but for now this'll do.

It's short. I'm happy. The End.

Madame Curie, or... Mad Madame Mim?

I looked in the mirror the other night and laughed and said, "With my hair up in this eternal and frizzy bun, I think I look a little like a mad scientist."



I was thinking Madame Curie.

I figured we had more than just the frizzed bun look in common. "Hello, Radiation, how you doin'?" (Too bad I smile too much. I looked and I looked for a pic of Mme Curie with a smile on her face, but one was not to be found. Bless her sweet, hard-working little heart. She was too focused to smile, methinks. ... Totally not an issue I have. Clearly.)

But Mom thought I looked more like Mad Madame Mim.



You know, from The Sword in the Stone.



Bottom line: I need to comb my hair out, maybe wear it down a little more often. Oh, and work on not crossing my eyes or making other goofy faces.

Little Red Riding Hood(s)

It's been unseasonably cool here. So cool, in fact, that Mom and I had to wear our sweaters on our walk this afternoon - hoods up.



Which made me burst into song. (Well, first a howl. And then a song.) Why? Because my life is a musical. (Of sorts.)



We were lucky enough to run into Amy Webb (instead of a big, bad wolf) on our walk, who was kind enough to take our picture (and not eat us up). Gosh, I'm grateful for friends (who aren't wolf-ish, even one little bit).

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.

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.

Things that make me laugh out loud

Yes, out loud. (Thank heavens I have the ability to laugh this time around. I don't know if it's because my incision is 3 inches shorter than it was last time, or if it's because Heavenly Father knew how incredibly difficult it was for me not to be able to laugh for three weeks in the summer of 2010... but this time, I can laugh. Not for an incredibly long time, mind you, and not at full force, but I can laugh. Which is a blessing. A big one.)

But I digress. As usual. ... I was going to tell you what's been making me laugh lout loud.

Netflix. Netflix has been making me laugh out loud.

I will explain.

First, let me just say that I have the best friends ever. My friend Genevra gifted me a 3 month Netflix subscription, because she knows me and knows that watching movies is pretty much my favorite thing ever (and a very easy thing to do while convalescing).

For those of you who haven't done the Netflix thing, I'll take a moment and explain that one of the first things the website has you do is go through and rate several movies. It does this so it can get a good feel of what type of movie you like to watch, so it can give educated suggestions as to what you might want to put in your queue.

This morning, I rated about 300 movies. (No, I'm not kidding. It's something I can do from the luxury of my recliner, and Mom's busy writing her memoirs in her 3-ring notebook over on the couch. We co-exist quite nicely, no?)

Rating the movies, alone, is a crack up and a half. Why? Because it has you rank them from 1 (worst movie ever) to a 5 (I freaking LOVE this movie and would watch it every day of my life) - there is also an "I haven't seen this movie, nor would I like to" option. After ranking the movie between 1-5, a little blip comes up that shows you the category of movie, and asks you if you watch this type of movie "never", "sometimes" or "often". (The "never" option slays me. Hi, I just told you I watched this movie. Clearly, I wouldn't say I never watch movies like this. Weirdos.) What's been killing me is the way they code, or categorize, a movie.

Some of them make sense:

E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial was coded as heartwarming. (Okay, that makes sense.)

Runaway Bride was listed as a wedding movie. (Duh. But again, makes sense.)

Most of them do not make sense:

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider was coded as a father/daughter movie. (Really? Because I'd have gone more with "action adventure". PS - I hated this movie. One of the worst dates of my life. Remind me to NEVER tell you about it.)

Finding Nemo was coded as an undersea adventure. (Undersea adventure, ala Jacques Cousteau? Uh... no. Whatever happened to "animated", or "animal tale", which is what Ice Age was given, btw? So random.)

Secret Window was coded as a movie about marriage. (What the heck?! Has anyone else seen this show? I have, and I like it, because I enjoy Johnny Deep when he's creepy as all get-out. But let me just say, a movie about marriage, this is not. Stephen King isn't known for his relationship dramas, y'know.)

Salt was coded as a movie from the 2010's. (Hi. 2010 was only one year, there's no need to pluralize that. Also, I think "spy" or "espionage" would have been a better category than "movie from the 2010's", but whatever.)

You can see why I rated over 300 movies. The descriptions of the movies alone was some good entertainment. But my favorite part is yet to come.

The suggestions of what to put in my queue. Priceless, I tell you. Priceless.

I will show you:

What Lies Beneath, because I enjoyed: Sweet Home Alabama, My Best Friend's Wedding and Runaway Bride. (Clearly, What Lies Beneath is another creepy thriller that was somehow mistakenly categorized as a movie about weddings - or marriage - ala Secret Window.)

LOTR: The Fellowship of the Ring because I enjoyed: X2 - X-Men United, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and Star Trek. (What in the world do these four movies have in common? I mean, WHAT?! PS - I would sooner die than watch LOTR. The creatures. Ewh. Wolverine, not creepy. Elves and fairies, super creepy.)

Conspiracy Theory, because I enjoyed: Runaway Bride, The Patriot and Hook. (Uhh... Other than casting, what do these movies have in common with each other? I don't watch movies just because Mel Gibson and/or Julia Roberts is in them. Weird.)

So, Netflix. It is a never ending source of enjoyment for me. Even if all I ever do is rate movies so I can see how they were categorized, it's a good time.

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.)