Janet's Blog

Any year I continue to suck air has to be cause for celebration. Or at least I certainly hope so.

I'm home, albeit with digestive difficulties (probably from the IV antibiotic). I also have swelly feet, legs and belly. But I'm extremely relieved I don't have to spend my birthday at the hospital.

I am 36 today and have been fêted for almost a week (if you don't count the early gift of the Amazon Kindle). My mom brought stuffed peppers and a Sweet Dreams Bakery cake (much like the one pictured) to the hospital last Sunday. Thursday she took Brian and me to Musashi for dinner, yesterday Brian finished hanging curtains for me and gave me the DVDs The Red Violin and Walk the Line. Today he took down the butt-ugly pool hall style light over the dining room table and is putting up my Ikea octopus light, "Hörby". Tonight he is taking me to a Red Wings (hockey) game. I'm not a hockey fan, but I'm excited and kind of hope there will be much violence.

Not that I have rage issues, or anything.

Labels: ascites, birthday, Brian, edema, hospital, mom

3 comments

Saturday Brian, my mom and I went to the Detroit Zoo to feed the giraffes. Brian and I got there very early and lined up--we were worried when the large group of kids wearing matching shirts went in because there is a daily limit to the amount of tickets available for the Giraffe Encounter. Obviously, we were successful.

It was a lot of walking even though we took the train to the back of the zoo. I was ok later, but Brian had very sore feet!

Detroit Zoo Photos

Labels: Brian, detroit, mom, zoo

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Greetings. After not having posted for a while, I have a number of things to discuss. So pull up a chair, grab a beverage of your choice, and let's get going, shall we?

Vacations with Brian - This photo album includes pictures of our trip to New York to see Brian's brother and nieces and nephews. I wish we could have seen more of Scott and Charles, but it was great to spend time with the kids. We tried to go see Wall-E one day, but Charlotte was scared of the explosions, and there was a fire alarm at the movie theater. Instead we we all got together for lunch and then went to the non-fire-alarm end of the mall where there was a carousel. I was satisfied after one ride, but the kids wanted to go again, this time on one of the spinning cars that are like the teacups at Disney World. Olivia is pretty strong, and spun that thing like nobody's business. When they got off, they were staggering like little drunk people. All of the children seem inordinately fond of butter. This is what happens when you eat a mostly healthy diet. That which is usually forbidden becomes irresistibly alluring.

Later in the summer, Brian's parents took us to a minor league baseball game in Midland, Michigan. We got to sit in one of the luxury boxes and were treated to hot dogs, brownies, popcorn, and drinks. It was great fun, although the Great Lakes Loooooooons were defeated by the Iowa Kernels. (Brian and I went to a Tigers game, too, but forgot to bring the camera.)

My mom also generously took us to Stratford's annual Shakespeare Festival, at which they show more than just Shakespeare. We saw Hamlet, The Music Man, and a double-bill of Krapp's Last Tape and...I've forgotten the name of the O'Neill play--oh right: Hughie. We played pool (with a lower-case "p" that rhymes with "T" which stands for...Trouble!), ate swanky foods, and shopped (which I am sure Brian and John don't enjoy all that much).

Also included are some bonus pictures of Bronner's and a shot of me looking shorter than seems possible.

Martha's Vineyard - This is one of my favorite places in the world. I have gone every year (except 1998) for the last 11 years (and have the "Black Dog" t-shirts to prove it!). I get to go due to the generosity of my friend Sarah and her parents (who built the house we stay in and let their kids each have use of the house for a week out of the summer season--Sarah routinely picks the week of her birthday, which almost always involves perfect weather and frequently coincides with the Agricultural Fair). This year we got to see fireworks for Sarah's birthday. I finally bought one of those ribbon-on-a-stick things at the toy store--I frequently get in trouble for playing with the toys at the store and figured I should finally buy one of these things. We go to the yarn store, eat fabulous sandwiches at Humphrey's, drive all over the island, spend time at the beach, go see movies, and spend more than a little time watching movies and knitting. I wish we had busted out the Wii, though. I'd still like to try it.

On my way home, I waited in the airport at my gate next to a gaggle of women who had just been to a convention for Weight Watchers employees. They talked about points and whether or not they bothered using the "activity points" they were entitled to, running discussion groups, and the importance of drinking lots of water. The lady sitting next to me went to get some food and came back with a tuna salad sandwich. She then launched into an explanation of how she initially thought the turkey sandwich would be "better" until she read the label and saw the calories and fat content of each sandwich. The turkey apparently had cheese, mayo, AND pesto--making the tuna a more diet-friendly choice. She whipped out some kind of little device for calculating her points.

I felt very odd sitting there next to women who are obsessed with and employed by the business of losing weight. I keep getting told that I need to eat more because I shouldn't be losing any more weight. Lita doesn't care what I eat--ice cream, bacon, whatever--as long as I eat.

Summer is over, the students are back on campus, and I had some exciting new technology come into my life yesterday. For work I have a shiny new MacBook Pro--I am going to install VMware and then Windows XP so that I can check my web stuff in an array of browsers and platforms. Some of the work I do that looks great in Firefox for Mac doesn't look so great on IE for Windows. I won't have to switch between machines anymore to doublecheck. W00t!

Then when I got home, Brian was so excited about the fact that my birthday present had arrived, that he wanted to give it to me right away. I am very bad at insisting that he save my presents for my actual birthday (which is in October), so I agreed it would be delightful to open it immediately.

It was a box from Amazon containing...AN AMAZON KINDLE! Wheeeeeeeeeeee! I have lots of Amazon credit built up from my associates site (which I really need to update) and have already charged that bad boy up and acquired a few books. It can also store Word or HTML documents and can play mp3s and books in Audible format. I'm so excited! The screen looks awesome. I keep accidentally hitting the "next page" bar but speed-reading is an excellent skill to develop, right? Brian is the best. I also know who else is responsible; you know who you are, and you rock also. :)

The dread of my upcoming paracentesis is not quite enough to dampen my spirits today. Whereas I do get rather upset at the prospect of being jabbed in the belly with a ginormous needle like I am some kind of Capri Sun juice pouch, I have fun toys to come home to, Brian's supportive (and extremely comforting) presence, and the prospect of at least feeling better when the ordeal is over. This is not a procedure I will ever enjoy. Before the last one I had something of a hysterical melt-down and have permission to partake of an extra dose of the Xanax. My liver functions and tumor counts seem to be improving, so it's possible I might be able to have fewer of these taps--or at least spread them out more. I wish I didn't have to do them at all, but I suppose the alternative (exploding like that guy at the end of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life) isn't any better.

Labels: Brian, John, Lita, liver, Martha's Vineyard, mom, paracentesis, vacation

2 comments

Five years ago today I had a biopsy. I was very surprised that my biopsy would involve taking out a golf-ball sized chunk since I thought biopsies consisted of taking a core sample with a needle. Both are true, but I didn't have a solid mass so they needed to do surgery. My biopsy was a guided wire procedure (which I will never submit to again) and I fainted while sitting at the mammogram machine. After the biopsy and after puking from the anesthesia, they let me go home.

I went to a computer training class the next day. I remember very clearly sitting in the classroom and that I had a PC in front of me and that the instructor wrote some stuff on the board. I remember that I walked to Einstein Bagel for lunch and I remember what I had to eat. I haven't the slightest idea of the content of the class, though. It was a class on cgi, which I haven't the slightest idea how to use.

The next week I had an appointment with the surgeon, who did not have the pathology results yet. I asked him if my breast (which looked very sad, bruised, and deflated) would return to a natural shape on its own, or what. He told me it would fill out on its own and to quit looking in the mirror.

A couple of days later, I got a call from the surgeon's office to set up another appointment to go over the results. It was strongly suggested that I have someone with me. Soon afterwards I got a very panicked call from my primary care physician. She was very nervous, and didn't know what to say. So she blurted out that she was so sorry that the results showed I had cancer.

I stood in my kitchen and thought, "No wonder they want somebody to come with me to see the surgeon."

"Ok," I said.

It wasn't really Ok.

Whatever happened to, "You're so young, these things are almost always nothing," or "3 out of 4 times it turns out to be harmless"? By the time I got to my biopsy, it was "You have a 90% chance of being totally fine."

My mom took me to the appointment. Dr. Barbi had a box of tissues, many explanatory brochures and pictures, as well as sample drains to show me what would be involved to care for the wounds. I sat there dully, listening to him say how lucky it was that this was caught early. When it's caught early, treatment is very successful.

I had a tiny bit of microinvasion. Some cells were beginning to escape the confines of the ducts, but he was satisfied that this was still extremely early. I needed to coordinate with a plastic surgeon, and there were two that he typically worked with. I called the first name on the list and then had surgery in November.

Tiny cells just starting to bust out.

Diagnosis in August, surgery in November. Was that too long? No, I was assured. Plus, I opted to do chemotherapy which was sure to take care of any pesky floating cancer cells. 98% success rate for the type of cancer I had.

I "sailed" through treatment. I was called a "trooper." Success!

And technically, I am a "success." It's one of the happier statistics that I can say I'm still alive five years after treatment. I had always assumed that this meant being disease free five years later, but it does not.

I kind of hoped for more.

I certainly didn't hope for a broken, mangled hip. I didn't hope for an enlarged spleen and ascites from a damaged liver. I didn't hope for tumors in my brain. I didn't hope for multiple hospitalizations both from the disease itself and secondary infections.

The fact that I feel reasonably well, although somewhat wimpy and water-logged is amazing, but I still carry around anger about what I perceive as the "lies" that I was told about this condition. I still wonder about the gap between diagnosis and treatment. I wonder about the lack of follow-up and certainty on the part of my doctors that my early-stage cancer was treated with spectacular success, which resulted in months of inappropriately treated agony.

And I wonder why the emphasis on "early detection" is more evident than research for treatment of people who are still alive after five years, but waiting for a cure.

Labels: ascites, biopsy, chemo, DCIS, Dr. Barbi, hip, hospital, liver, mammogram, mom, spleen, surgery

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Only one in which there was no brilliant, cranky Head Doctor who would come up with the solution and heal me of my infirmities.

A couple of weeks ago, during a visit by my mom on Sunday, I got very cold. Teeth-chatteringly cold. After our card game was over and she went home, I went to bed and huddled under many blankets. Brian discovered that I actually had a pretty high fever. So he called the oncologist on call, who suggested taking some tylenol and watching my temperature, and if there was no improvement, come to the hospital in the morning.

The next morning there wasn't an improvement (although I felt immensely better), so my nurse practitioner told me to come in, have blood drawn, get a chest ex-ray, and then go up to "bedside" in the infusion area (a opposed to the area where the infusion chairs are), where they got all freaked out about my "shortness of breath" (with my stomach all bloated, of course my lungs can't fill up really well), so they did the test where they do your blood pressure lying down, then sitting, then standing. They did this several times. Of course my blood pressure is very low to begin with, but it's especially erratic since they have to use either my right forearm or my leg.

Their results were so alarming that they decided I needed a CT scan of my chest. This makes me cry, because it means insertion of an IV. They eventually get the thing inserted, and then it turns out that the only CT machine available is in the ER...when I get down to ER, the CT technicians look at my IV and say, "Oh no, that one's too small." Blarrrrrg. So I get to cry again as they stab me again in the arm. They made a mess of it, too, and got blood on my fuzzy "Snoop Dog" hat. It also turns out that I have developed an allergy to the iodine conrast, so I couldn't breathe for a short while after the test. They didn't believe me and thought I was just "freaking out."

So they take me back to "bedside," where my oncologist agrees that I should be admitted.

Sadly they could not admit me directly to a room, but I had to go through ER. So I sat in triage in ER for several hours. Then a room opened up in ER and I had an EKG, many blood tests (with blood taken both from my port and from my arm) The ER doctor came in and told me my CT scan showed a pulmonary embolism. Then, no it was actually a "chronic embolism" which means it was a blood clot that was surrounded by other tissue and had been there for a long time and wasn't doing any harm, but perhaps I should have a mesh thingy surgically implanted to keep blood clots from my legs from reaching any vital organs.

Then they finally admitted me to the hospital proper, and I was put into a double room with a diabetic woman who had been there a month and complained constantly.

I can't say I blame her.

So then the doctors decided I didn't have an embolism at all, and that my low blood pressure/shortness of breath might be pneumonia or some kind of viral or bacterial infection. So they started giving me crazy amounts of antibiotics, at which point I developed horrible digestive issues. They had to bring me a bedside commode. They thought maybe whatever infection I was dealing with was making me anemic, so they decided to give me a blood transfusion. (It turns out I am type A-positive, which I did not know before).

They kept coming to test my blood--they had to take blood both from my port, and from another spot in my arm (in case it was the port that was infected)--and every test they wanted to do they told me, "We'll have the results in three days." But you already TOOK blood for tests and it's been three days....where are those results? Grrrrr.

I developed a dry cough (they were giving me oxygen at night because I was having some trouble getting enough air), so the respiratory people got all excited and wanted to give me this test where they made me breathe albuterol through a tube and then after a few minutes of this, spit sputum into a cup for testing. Well, my cough was a DRY cough. They were never able to get a sample from me, although they tried twice.

The freaky thing is that they also made my roommate do the albuterol thing and try to spit into the little cup, and then when she got discharged (after a month, the poor lady), and then they did it to the next roommate I had. I wonder if there was something going around the hospital, or what.

After about seven days of misery and crappy food and trying (sometimes unsuccessfully) to make it to the commode, they sent a physical therapist, who brought me a walker, a theraband, and a little pedal thing that sits on the floor and is sort of like a thing that makes whatever chair you're in into a recumbent bicycle. Great. Thanks, now I get to have a walker again. And the theraband was for my arms. I took the walker and theraband home; I'm not sure if I was supposed to keep the pedal thing or not, but I decided it was stupid and the hospital PT was useless. (I'm now getting PT at home, and she actually gave me USEFUL exercises to do.)

They never did decide what I might be infected with...if it was bacterial, viral, side effects from Xeloda, or what. So I got discharged after about nine days, just in time to go to Brian's graduation, weaker than I have been in a long time, coughing, and wearing a diaper.

Luckily I am getting stronger. I'm still wearing a diaper, though (at least I am today)...and I've got a bedside commode (which I have not needed yet, thank goodness because I've been sleeping very deeply), a walker for very long walks, and my feet swell up like sausages. I ranted to my oncologist and expressed relief that all the tests at least confirmed that I do not have EBOLA. I don't think he appreciated my outrage, because of course they've got my best interests in mind and are concerned for my welfare.

I FELT BETTER BEFORE BEING HOSPITALIZED.

Grrrrr. I hope there WAS some kind of bug floating around my system that got killed, because I'm pissed off and hate having to try to rebuild my strength and deal with the cough and the digestive issues. OH, also food is now disgusting to me I think because of the medications I've been given (usually antibiotics do this) or maybe the Xeloda itself is messing up my appetite. I don't have any nausea, it's just that when I put food into my mouth, it tastes all gross and metallic and I lose interest in swallowing it. It's even worse when there's a distinctive texture. It's sort of like I'll chew a mouthful of food, and then suddenly I realize that I have this nasty blob of chewed food in my mouth that I can't quite bring myself to swallow, but you can't spit it out.

I bet House could figure it out.

Labels: Brian, CT scan, hospital, mom, physical therapy, Xeloda

5 comments

My treatment is being resumed, starting tomorrow.

Xeloda it is. I had a minor meltdown in the exam room today at my appointment but after going through one of those mini-boxes of useless half-size tissues, I got the reasonably good news that my liver hasn't yet imploded and that I can begin doing the pills without having to also do an infusion of Gemzar at the same time.

I have the informational packets, I have the pills, I have another am/pm pill case thing to add to my array of am/pm/middle-of-the-day pill cases, and I am ready to go.

I am so relieved.

After that my Mom took me to the new JC Penney in Canton where I did retail therapy. I got some Urban Decay eye primer and draperies! The living room will have some color soon and I ordered thermals plus got some stuff for Brian's office. It remains to be seen how much energy I will have for putting the stuff up. I still have to put the valance up in the guest room and haven't gotten around to it yet.

Brian finds my obsession with the curtains bizarre, I'm sure, but window treatments are important.

Labels: Brian, Gemzar, liver, mom, Xeloda

1 comments

Loopy here from a "basal ganglia stellate procedure" to help knock out my post-herpetic neuralgia. I may have to do this several more times. Sadly, after the procedure today I can't really talk or swallow, so taking my mom to my favorite deli was great for her, but my sammy is in the fridge, uneaten. I hope Brian doesn't eat it.

Also, my goal is to be taking fewer medications, but the pain doctor wants to increase the Lyrica, which is one of the ones that has a drowsiness warning on the label. I'm never going to be able to drive again. Blargh.

Labels: Brian, lyrica, mom, shingles, Zingerman's

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I went to the clinic on Friday and got to speak with the nurse practitioner who is Lita's counterpart. I believe she tried to give me good information and assistance, but I don't think I will consent to speak with her again unless Lita has been hit by that mythical bus that's just aiming to kill everyone. I felt things were going fine until she asked me if I had ever had a conversation about ceasing treatment.

Huh? Why the would I be calling asking about my symptoms and trying like heck to get back on chemo if that were the case? Why would THIS be the time to be having such a discussion? I was very upset and later, extremely angry that she would say such a thing to me. She doesn't KNOW me. Perhaps she was attempting in some clumsy way to bring up the notion of advance directives, but I've already gone through that with other people and it's not her business. I don't know to whom I can complain about this, or maybe I should just let it go.

Anyway, after an early morning MRI on Saturday, I got a call from one of the doctors I saw initially about the brain mets that I should go back to the hospital immediately. I was able to go to the floor instead of being admitted to the ER, which streamlined things somewhat, but it did mean having to be in the hospital over night for who knows how long. The plan was to radiate my thoracic spine--the MRI showed that one of the two lesions on my spine had increased in size, and the one in the T9 area is poking into my spinal column, which may account for some of my recent symptoms (but not the shingles). This is seen as an immediate problem, since delaying action can result in, oh, say, paralysis.

Sigh.

I got a private room, which was kind of nice. I also had multiple radiation/neuro people come to my room to have me squeeze their hands, follow the light with my eyes, and have invasive procedures to test the muscle tone of an area one doesn't want to have evaluated multiple times unless one has that particular fetish.

I refused the third "evaluation."

Sleeping was also a problem as they have seen fit to up my decadron to 8mg a day. I finally saw the movie Brigadoon (I have a soft spot for Gene Kelly) and a number of shows on Animal Planet about some amazing dogs that have vastly improved the lives of their owners, including one lab puppy who kept running away from home to be with a lady who eventually had her breast cancer diagnosed after the dog became upset and was poking at her breast incessantly. Dogs have been trained to detect cancer cells by smell, but this dog just did it naturally.

I did get released on Easter; I was expecting to go to my mom's for dinner, but that just wasn't going to work out. Instead, after she arrived at the hospital only to find out that I had just been discharged, we all went back to Canton and Brian's parents showed up shortly afterwards.

I've had three radiation treatments so far; they've scheduled them all at 7am, which is hilarious. This time I don't have to wear a mask; they just have me up on the table. I will have ten treatments altogether, and it will be over April 2. I don't know how long I will have to recover from the radiation before they can resume the chemo. I really hope there are no more hurdles. My other things have to heal and we are all hoping I don't get some kind of inconvenient infection.

Labels: Brian, Decadron, hospital, Joyce, Lita, mom, MRI, radiation, Roger, shingles, spine

// posted by Janet Yanosko Elkins @ 3:45 PM

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Earlier today (I still insist it's "Tuesday" because I have not yet slept through the night to wake up on Wednesday...ignore the time stamp behind the curtain, people) I went out to walk Baxter.

I was feeling pretty good and had just completed an excellent day with my mom doing some retail therapy to get supplies for knitting some awesome stuff. I tripped, and after stumbling a few feet, totally unable to get my toes back under me, I went over like old-growth timber. I actually made an effort to land not on my hands and knees, but to distribute my weight. I feel pretty fortunate that I was wearing a very cushiony full coat and thick mittens.

I scraped my knee, slapped my left hand on the ground just too hard, ruined my boot, and was very frightened (the last time I fell I broke my hip and was in agony for months afterwards). As I lay there, stunned, Baxter tried to help me by licking my face and a lady in an SUV pulled up to ask if I were ok. It takes me a while to get up from the ground because my legs are quite weak, but I finally staggered to my feet and offered her a "thumbs up" and said I was fine.

My hands have been shaking.

The troubling things are these: the walkway was totally dry. What if I fell because my brain seized, and not because I actually tripped? What if it happens again? What if the falling jarred my brain in some way and moved my lesions around? I have appointments with various brain-people this week; I need to be sure to tell them about the incident.

Brian is now very worried and keeps asking if I "broke" something.

At least now I have an opportunity to use one of my bacon bandaids.

Labels: Baxter, Brian, mom

1 comments

Nothing else is ready, but at least there will be food when people come to visit.

Brian and I have invited some family to come and spend Christmas with us, so his parents are coming, his brother is driving up, and my mom is coming over for Christmas dinner. I need to finish making cookies (I've jettisoned the bell cookies from my menu and will probably forgo the crispy rice treats; I've made the cookie candies, but they need to be covered with fudge and I haven't made thumbprint or chocolate chip cookies yet...not like people desperately need cookies, but I LIKE them and want to do it)--I have to bake a pie, and the actual dinner will need to be prepared. I'm confident the turkey will thaw in time, although I'm pretty sure that right now it's a turkeycicle. If we have to, we can eat cereal, mixed nuts, or the chestnuts and eggnog I've asked my mom to bring over.

The problem is the other stuff. I only assembled and lit the tree today; I meant to do it earlier in the week, but I pulled a muscle in my back and have to do things in short spurts. I started physical therapy (again) this week, but it's for my hips/legs, not my back. Tension is not helping. The tree isn't even decorated with anything yet except six tassels and a tree skirt right now. I'm sure Brian would be happy to help do it, but I'm too particular. All the decoration boxes are still upstairs and need to disappear before people arrive.

Nothing is wrapped.

We also don't have quite enough seating in the living room, the guest rooms need to be cleared out (which Brian has been making a heroic effort to do), the bathrooms have to be cleaned, we desperately need to buy toilet paper and I have only a vague idea of when people are coming over.

I also volunteered to play the flute part of a flute/organ duo at my mom's church for midnight mass. Why? I haven't played at Christmas in three years because I got braces and wasn't really well enough to in any case. Why am I doing it now? I sound rusty and twisting my back into proper flute-playing position is not helping my muscular distress. I hope I don't suck in front of Brian's family.

I have a CT scan, infusion, and physical therapy the day after Christmas, but I don't have to worry about that yet. This year the holiday is going to be great. :)

Labels: Brian, chocolate, Christmas, Christmas tree, cooking, CT scan, flute, Joyce, mom, Roger, Todd

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Tomorrow I will receive Adriamycin for the first time. This is the scary bright red chemo drug also known as the "Red Devil."

Either Lita is right and I am afraid for no reason--she says she has successfully treated a 90-year-old lady with Adriamycin--or the warning stories are true and it makes people ill, causes fatigue, and makes your pee turn red.

She did actually say something to me about whether I could possibly work half-time, which worries me. Why? Will I need to?

I hope I don't experience fatigue immediately. I am tired of being fatigued. I also hope I don't experience nausea. I have such a fear and horror of the whole gagging and spewing thing, that I can actually vomit from anxiety. I am a bit worried that I will work myself into a fervor that anti-emetics may not be able to deal with.

Wish me luck.

On a completely unrelated note, Brian lost a giant filling this weekend while eating gummi bears. So when I went shopping with my mom Sunday, I brought him some gummi ghosts and bats from Harry and David. He also ate some of the Moose Munch (original dark chocolate...MAN that stuff is good) I got for myself. He is going to the dentist this afternoon and joked that he was going to pack the cavity hole with caramel corn. I told him he could bring the tooth chunk to his boss as proof that he needs to leave work early.

At least it would have been a good way to get the tooth chunk off of our bathroom counter.

Labels: Adriamycin, anxiety, Brian, Lita, mom, nausea

3 comments

I am once again going for scans tomorrow. This is icky for a variety of reasons: first, barium is nasty and careens through the digestive system like a foamy, liquid freight train. I call it "barfium." Secondly: they scheduled my CT scan for 3pm, ensuring that I will be as hungry and cranky as possible. Thirdly: I had my last scan not so long ago and am dismayed that my liver counts and tumor marker counts appear to warrant scans again so soon.

I tried to ask for the kind of barium preparation that is a powder and can be mixed with clear liquid (like water or fruit juice), but Lita was extremely skeptical about whether our equipment is able to detect that particular kind of barium. Who knew that the stuff they make you chug or that they squirt into you might be hardware-specific? I never followed up on this so will be drinking two large cups of berry-flavored foam that weigh five pounds each tomorrow around 2:00.

I hate that my scan was scheduled for the afternoon. I will be able to eat breakfast, but not lunch. I get very cranky (and fatigued and become filled with low blood sugar-induced despair) when I can't eat lunch. If the scan were in the morning, I wouldn't mind because I'm used to fasting over night. As it is, I will get more and more irritated and crabby as the day wears on, and I have already apologized to my mom (who will be accompanying me to the appointment) for the fact that I will probably be very unpleasant company. The bone scan injection is at 4, then I have to come back at 8. To make things even more "convenient," the person who did the scheduling attempted to switch my infusion to noon.

That's right--I get chemo the same day. My appointment was at 9, so I planned to enjoy a muffin and relax at the Canton center, where it's very pleasant, low-key, and Brian and I can watch dvds without being cramped in to a huge assembly line of sick people. Switching the appointment to noon does not make it better. I'd have trouble getting from Canton to the hospital in time, and would completely miss out on the most excellent baked goods. I guess they were thinking that grouping things together would disrupt my day less, but I really don't need my day to be a solid mass of medical procedure, thank you. I'm happy to stagger things. Even the 3-4 hour gap between the injection and the bone scan is ok--it will give me time to go have dinner with my mom (or at least allow her to frantically acquire some chicken nuggets from a drive-thru to stuff into my mouth before she has to strangle me).

Results should be available Thursday morning. I certainly don't want bad news, although more of the same results will be disquieting, too. I don't want to just barely hang on, I want to see improvement. I'd love to have things knocked back to a degree where I could go on another chemo vacation.

Baxter is also going for medical treatment tomorrow. He is having a very special operation. I've tried to tell him that this is the consequence for "marking" the furniture in the living room, but we were going to have him fixed anyway. I have decided he is no longer allowed on the sofa and chair, except by invitation. It can be very disconcerting to have a 15 pound puppy suddenly flying at you from the ottoman, and since he seems to have the idea that the sofa and chair are HIS territory, he needs to be disabused of this notion. So far it's going reasonably well. He keeps trying, but we keep pre-empting his leaps to the sofa and squirting him with water when necessary. Oddly, he's been more pleasant in general since he's not allowed free access to the furniture.

The lesson here is that pets need boundaries. They also need to have their grown-up parts removed for the greater good.

Does anybody know of a really effective pet-odor neutralizer? I've been using one that says it has "enzyme action," but I'm dissatisfied.

Labels: barium, Baxter, bone scan, Brian, CT scan, Lita, mom, tumor marker

0 comments

The other night I watched an Entertainment Tonight segment on Mr. T's battle with cancer. Elizabeth Edwards and Tony Snow are both dealing with recurrences. Melissa Etheridge sings about her ordeal. Ted Koppel aired a documentary about his friend Leroy Sievers, a journalist. Lance. I commented to Brian that "Everybody's doing it... I can't believe how 'hip' I am!"

"Cancer is the new Black," he said.

I've never been in on a trend before. As a kid, I had dorky hair and clothes. When I moved from California to Tennessee, my mom bought me school clothes that would have been reasonably accepted in Northern California (stirrup pants with oversized sweatshirts and shaker sweaters), but in Tennessee--which was a couple of years behind--made me look like I was wearing my pajamas to school.

It's not that cancer is some new scourge; it's that people are talking about it like never before. Look at me--not only am I talking about it, I am blogging about it, which is like the double-whammy of trends, these days. I'm so edgy, I might accidentally cut myself.

And I don't have to worry about growing out or cutting a dorky hairstyle: all I have to do is take that one off and slap another one on my lumpy, bald head. Chic.

Labels: baldness, blog, Brian, mom

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Brian and I went to downtown Detroit today to record an interview with Story Corps. Brian was the interviewer, and I responded to his questions, which were primarily about my illness and what I see for the future. Our session, forty minutes long, was recorded and will be sent to the Library of Congress.

What's a little bit embarrassing is that we got a Story Corps interview with something called the "Griot Initiative," which is dedicated to recording the stories of African Americans for posterity, with a special emphasis on World War II veterans and people involved in the Civil Rights struggle. The interviews in Detroit will also go to the Charles H. Wright Museum of African-American History. We don't exactly fit the sought-after demographic for the Griot Initiative, but were advised to come to the appointment anyway.

Brian had a list of questions which he prepared in advance based on suggestions from the Story Corps site. At first he asked me who the most influential person in my life was, what my most memorable moment with him was, and then he asked me about what I see in the future.

I don't think the sound engineer was prepared for what he heard.

I don't know how much "future" I will have. I certainly don't see children in my future, or adoption. I talked about being diagnosed years ago, how shocking it was, how "lucky" I had been told I was, and about the fact that even before we met I had told him over the phone that I was healed and would not have to worry about cancer again. When I got my official diagnosis and had to tell my family, I called my mom from the parking lot at the doctor's office, and then went home to tell Brian I had essentially lied to him before we met. I was afraid I was going home to tell him news that would make him pack up and leave; I'm not sure I would have blamed him.

He tells me not to worry that I "lied."

We talked about how afraid we both were when I was hospitalized. I remember having a conversation with my mom (at this point Brian was looking for apartments without stairs to move into) about how I always thought that when the time came to move out of my apartment, it would be to move into a house or a condo, and that it didn't seem that signing a 30-year mortgage would be possible. My horizon loomed very close and my life today was unimaginable to me then, wracked with pain, unable to walk, and in a hospital bed surrounded by bins to vomit into.

I am happy to be wrong. I'm happy to feel better and am happy to be less afraid that I will die soon. I have to make it at least nine more years because Brian has promised me an anniversary diamond.

We have a copy of the interview on CD. The recording engineer was very moved; he told us that both of his parents have cancer, so he at least knows what it's like to be the other person in that situation. He also pointed out that our being a part of the Griot Initiative, well, it didn't matter that we are white because what we talked about was really universal.

I wish cancer wasn't universal and that it didn't touch on almost everybody's lives.

Labels: Brian, condominium, detroit, hospital, mom, story corps

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It only took one poke for the I.V. to go in yesterday; I was shocked.

Seriously, that never happens. Often even when the I.V. does go in, the vein completely collapses when they try to get a "return". I have no idea what that means, because I can't look at it sticking out of my hand/arm/wherever and usually have my eyes clenched shut when they are doing something involving pointy stabby things.

I do not know when I will have the results; typically Lita gives them to me at the next appointment. So possibly this means next Tuesday, at which point I will find out if my treatment regimen will be completely overhauled. I will find out if my liver is twice the size it's supposed to be (presumably not; one ought to be able to palpate such a thing).

Yesterday after my appointment, I was very cold. The Dairy Queen Blizzard probably didn't help, but we had to stop at Blockbuster on the way home and there was a DQ right there. After Brian left for class, I got even more unbelievably cold. I sat in the living room with the hood on my sweater up, a down throw on my legs, a chenille blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I tried to knit, but when my hands started shaking, I decided to go to bed. So I went to bed with all my layers on, my hood up, and actually pulled the comforter up, which I never do because I'm always too hot at night (thanks, premature menopause). The only part of my body which was warm was my face, so I warmed my hands on it, which will probably do nothing whatsoever to help my acne.

After sleeping a few hours, I woke up burning and started pulling things off. I also started hallucinating and had this very bizarre and abstract idea that I was breathing in different units of a three-dimensional shape than what one normally breathes in, and that without being able to breathe out the non-normal shape, it would build up in my lungs, overwhelm the other shape, and I'd never cool down.

Yes, I hallucinate geometry. Having mathematician parents was destined to wreak havoc with my psyche eventually.

A cold washcloth turned out to be the antidote (to feeling hot, if not to math).

Labels: Brian, CT scan, Dad, IV, Lita, liver, mom

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I've been here before. I've been to a second dose of chemotherapy. The last time I had a second dose of chemotherapy I didn't suddenly have trouble breathing, have to have the treatment temporarily stopped, be given oxygen, and then have the treatment team paged.

Apparently Taxol can do that to you. I had some kind of reaction (which they assured me was not uncommon) and that I'd probably be fine and never have that reaction again. they gave me some benadryl to be on the safe side. It was very weird; it felt like my lungs just weren't working and my face turned beet red. I certainly hope it doesn't happen again; it delayed things and I ended up not getting out of there until after 6 p.m. I don't know why it is all of my appointments have to take so long.

The other day at Dr. Rodriguez's office, a patient showed up with a very demanding parent/guardian who insisted that the patient be seen despite not being in the system as having an appointment. We could hear the entire conversation through the walls, and I think his being there caused something of an uproar, disrupted the schedule, and I ended up being the last patient out of the office. Why? Why me? Do I need to be a squeakier wheel? Should I complain more? Should I loftily proclaim I will leave or threaten legal action if I'm not seen now? Those options aren't appealing; I think most people are just trying to do their jobs and don't want to be harangued. It's just that I'm getting a little tired of being passed over and having things run later than they ought.

My dose of 1 chemotherapy drug actually also involves a drug designed to inhibit new blood vessel growth (this is something tumors like to do...they nest somewhere and set up their own blood supply...little f#$%ers), which naturally have to be delivered separately. Then of course, to help with nausea, I am given some anti-nausea meds beforehand, two in pill form and one intraveinously, which delays the chemo. Then of course there are bags of saline to "flush" and since I had an episode, benadryl and more saline. Everything adds up to me sitting there forever. Blargh. I don't know what Brian did while I was sleeping. My mom had a book with her before she left for her yoga class.

Then of course the ride is long to get home. They are going to start offering infusions at the Canton health center, which will be much more convenient (I hope).

Labels: allergy, Avastin, Brian, chemo, Dr. Rodriguez, infusion, mom, nausea, Taxol

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My day lasted considerably longer than I wanted to and took a radically unexpected turn. I got to the Radiology department at 9:06 a.m. (only six minutes late), and got prepared to have a port installed to make the monthly infusions more bearable. I had anxiety about the port placement. Where would it be? Would it be very painful and awful? What would it be like afterwards? I was assured that the procedure would go smoothly, that people tend to not suffer much discomfort during the placement, and that I could discuss where it would be placed with the person doing the procedure and things would turn out ok.

I actually didn't feel much of the procedure at all. After giving me the sedative, the people in the room kept asking me questions about where I lived, and did I know about Holiday Market, and was I near the new Ikea? I remember that the local anesthetic shots stung quite a bit, and then I don't remember anything else until being wheeled into recovery. This was several hours later than expected, since there were two people who needed emergency procedures before I was even able to go in. So my mom had lunch while I was out of commission, and I had to get dressed and get to my other appointments. There was a wheelchair for me. I got in the wheelchair (which got us special privileges at Wendy's in the hospital) and had my first food of the day: nuggets and a small frosty. I looked at the tiny cup dolefully.

"If I had known the small was going to be that small, I would have opted for a medium."

Then I went to make my next appointment; the infusion that was scheduled at 2. I had totally missed my appointment with Dr. Hayes, but could make this one. As I was getting weighed in, I heard people in the waiting area calling a name I'm hardly used to: "Janet Elkins? Janet ELkins! Janet ELKINS?" I identified myself, and it turns out it was highly important to see the doctor before going in to have the infusion. There was a delay there as the four people at the check in desk neatly failed to help the line of people waiting and depended instead on the trainee being helped to do it. Every conversational remark she made to somebody ahead of me I begrudged. How dare she take time to trade pleasantries when there are people waiting? Grrrr...

Finally I got in to the docor's office and waited. And waited. And waited. My mom called Brian, who then took over the job of waiting with me. And we waited. Finally, Lita came in and had news to report which made it clear why seeing the doctor before going in to the infusion would be important. "While it certainly did at first," she said, "it looks like for whatever reason the hormonal treatment isn't working anymore." We would have to switch to another therapy. So today I started chemotherapy for the second time, which I have already prayed in this blog I would never have to do again, god willing.

God is apparently not very willing.

I finally got home at 10 p.m. Brian is eating ice cream. I'm typing in my blog with a very bruised arm covered with green...antiseptic, I think it is. My face is puffy from something. A side effect of the infusions? I didn't start weeping until after my left eye was already partially swollen shut so I don't know what's going on there.

My day was very long and this was an unpleasant surprise.

Labels: Brian, chemo, Dr. Hayes, hormone therapy, infusion, Lita, mom, port, surgery

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This week I had the veritable motherlode of appointments. I had my usual blood draw/oncology team visit/infusion & pellet injection on Tuesday. I made sure to bring pictures of the wedding with me to show Lita, the Oncology nurse practitioner, who demanded them last time. (I also tossed in some of the wedding favors Brian's mom put together for her and Dr. Hayes.)

My mom picked me up, and they were running on time at the blood draw station, so I went in, had some tubes sucked out painlessly as possible (I love those people), and then came out to go to the next appointment. We went upstairs and waited for Brian. The check-in area was hectic, and there was about an hour to wait.

We did not get to go in early.

They called me to one of the rooms, and forty minutes later, Brian showed up. Finally, my mom decided she had to go, so she left and Brian and I waited some more. And we waited and waited. I chewed some gum. It lost its flavor, and still I waited. Finally Lita came in and checked how I was doing. I showed her the mini-album of pictures my mom put together and gave her the party favor. She was delighted with the candy, not having eaten lunch that day.

We talked about the nausea, and how that's really the only thing bothering me significantly at this point. We also talked about driving, and she suggested that physical therapy would be the place to address that issue, so I said I'd talk to Dr. Rodriguez (the physical medicine specialist) today about it. Then she took off to find Dr. Hayes and send him in.

We waited, and waited, and waited....

My gum lost its flavor, so I threw it away. I got cold and decided to put my shirt back on. I figured if the doctor wanted to use the stethescope, he didn't need me in a gown for that.

Finally he ducked in and asked if we'd seen Lita. Sure, uh, about an HOUR ago. He asked briefly how I was and then said he'd come back with her.

When they got back, and the doctor talked about how the "numbers are down" and that things are looking very good. He was talking about the presence of protein markers which indicate tumor activity: tumor activity is down, so I am getting healthier. He is a little bit concerned about the nausea, and ordered an MRI of the brain to rule out tumors there. "A hundred dollars on it being nothing," he said (or something like it.)

This makes me nervous. I have beaten stupider odds. But surely the universe would not do this to me again--that would just be cruel. They just have to rule it out. I hope they're ruling it out. "I'd stay and talk, but you're doing well and I need to go help the sick people," he said, and left.

So Lita suggested seeing if the MRI people I was going to see this morning could add another MRI.

I had to be at the hospital today at 5:30 a.m. Laugh uproariously, all ye who know how much of a morning person I am not.

They did add the other MRI, but it totally ruined my whole shtick about pretending to be a photon torpedo. They put stabilizer pads by my head and then affixed a thing that was more like The Man in the Iron Mask than Star Trek. It ruined my concentration and made me all tense. Then just as the test was beginning I suddenly realized I had totally forgotten to take my wedding band off. Was I wearing any metal? Duh....I thought for sure I had remembered everything. I could feel it buzzing to the MRI pulse and hoped that the machine wasn't going to explode or zap my ring finger off or anything like that.

The CT scan was over very quickly; it was just of the neck. The original CT and MRI scans were prescribed by Dr. Rodriguez, who wanted to investigate why I've been getting some numbness in my hands when my head turns a certain way. (I'm guessing "pinched nerve," but I'm not the doctor.) So after this morning, I had to go back to Ann Arbor in the afternoon to see her. She asked how I was, inquired about my movement, measuered my legs when I complained one feels shorter than the other, and wrote out a new prescription for physical therapy, suggested a driving evaluation when I asked about that, and told me that I can have an appointment with orthotist? Orthotician?

I have to get an orthotic wedge in my shoe. Sigh. At least this will help with the limping. I guess a wedge is better than having to get orthopedic shoes. My mom had to wear those when she was younger and the result was a woman with a full-blown shoe fetish that has yet to wane.

Labels: brain scan, Brian, CT scan, Dr. Hayes, Dr. Rodriguez, infusion, injection, Lita, mom, MRI, nausea, physical therapy, star trek, tumor marker, wedding

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I've tried at least four different kinds of medication to deal with nausea, hoping with each switch to find that magic thing that will keep me from spewing the contents of my stomach everywhere, or from dry-heaving the lack of contents until I can't do anything besides gag, shaking, over whatever receptacle was close enough to get to, if I was lucky enough to get to one.

I have actually made food choices based on what things will taste like coming back up. I'm worried that I will develop dislikes of foods I had previously enjoyed because I've thrown them up. I adore spinach dip, but there's nothing quite like picking spinach out of your braces...twice.

This latest medication does a fairly good job at keeping me from feeling nauseous, until the actual moment is upon me, and the maddening thing is that I haven't figured out what the triggers are for sure. I don't know why I'll be feeling fine one day and then suddenly the next, bleahrgh....

• I experienced one awful day on mine and Brian's honeymoon. It was the day after the very hectic Late Show/Spamalot combo. The next day I was so pukey ill I couldn't eat anything or get out of bed.


• Last Sunday I went to visit my mom's, something I hadn't done since Thanksgiving. I was nervous about the steps, but felt that I could handle it and was very glad to see Skippy, her very bulky chihuahua. Monday I felt horrible and couldn't keep anything down.


• Thursday I had a very busy day going to the dentist and various banks and offices, making official name changes and what not to Janet L. Elkins, and Friday I was miserably ill again.

Is it just activity level and stress? How on earth am I going to be able to control that? Sigh. Being able to wear smaller clothes is nice and all, but I need to be able to retain nutrients and things that will help me feel better. I've been advised to get a juicer. Does anyone have experience with those things? Will drinking lots of fresh juices make me healthy and give me unparalleled bushy eyebrows? Maybe my system won't like nutrition in juice form and will just spew it up again. Then I'll have invested money in a contraption that takes up space and is useless, rather like the pile of prescriptions in my medicine cabinet which have been tried, and rejected as just not performing well.

Labels: Brian, dentist, mom, nausea, Skippy, Thanksgiving

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I am extremely tired after the goings-on yesterday. I love more people and told more people I'd never met before how glad I was to see them, and it was true.

I was very happy to have help getting dressed and would like to thank the bridesmaids for being there. I think everybody looked great in their impractical dresses requiring complicated underwear, and think that anybody who agrees to such a duty deserves every amount of kudo possible. I'd like to thank Maria, particularly for marshalling people and getting everyone there in good order and for holding the bouquet at a crucial moment in the ceremony. I'd like to thank Wendy for helping me with the scary elevator; I was afraid the metal accordion-style door thing was going to crush her. I'd like to thank Melissa for being the photographer and helping to organize the group pictures. And I'd like to thank Sarah, who went on with the show despite not being able to attend the rehearsal and for being my witness (sorry I didn't tell you about this blog sooner).

I'd also like to thank the flower girl, Olivia, for doing a great job walking down the aisle, and who provided no small amount of entertainment value afterwards. I hope you like your flower-wreath headpiece.

It's Brian's job to thank the groomsmen, but I'd like to thank them too, especially my brother John, who doesn't know Brian very well but who agreed to participate. You are the best big brother anyone could ever ask for.

I'd like to thank Brian's brother Todd for delivering a very lovely, and mercifully brief ceremony, despite making me cry with the "in sickness and in health" part. If I could go back in time and change anything, I'd have stuffed a handkerchief somewhere about my person.

Thank you, Dad, for walking me down the aisle. I did not imagine I would ever have occasion to do such a thing, and am extremely grateful that you could be here to walk with me.

The table favors were perfect and included two pieces of Brian's favorite candy, Ferrero Rochet, and a small box of my favorite candy, the best candy in the world, hee hee. Brian's mom put them together, and I'd like to thank her not only for making sure they were sweet-tasting, but that they looked very sweet as well.

Finally, I'd like to thank my mom for arranging the whole event with perhaps less input from me than was helpful. I confess disinterest in invitation ink color and I am fearful of calling places for prices. Much of the planning went on while I was hospitalized, and the thought of planning tended to shoot my anxiety level to nausea-indusing heights. Through events yesterday my mom remained calm. I think what touched me most, however, is that when I got home from the rehearsal the other night, I came home and found my walker decorated with shiny irridescent fabric and beaded ribbon. It was funny and touching and kind of puts me in mind of what I must have been like in my own dress--I'm a little bit gimpy and broken, but anything can look pretty when dressed up for a wedding.

Also, the mashed potato bar and baby roast beef sandwiches at the reception were a big hit; I believe my enthusiasm regarding the food was vindicated. (Whenever I went on and got excited about the mashed potato bar that was going to be at the reception--you got your choice of regular or sweet potato with whatever fixins' you wanted--people would tell me, "uh, ok.".)

The cutting of the cake did not involve smashing pastry into any bodily orifices other than the mouth. I'm sure it was an accident that some icing fell into my extremely prominent cleavage.

Labels: anxiety, Brian, Dad, John, Junior Mints, Maria, Melissa, mom, nausea, Olivia, Sarah, Todd, walker, wedding, Wendy

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It's two days before my wedding, I'm still fighting nausea, and there's an awful lot of backstory to cover.

I discovered in the hospital that you can't depend on the caregivers to necessarily give the best care, whatever their intentions. It is vitally important to keep track of your own treatment and to speak up if something doesn't seem right.

Unfortunately, many of the things that don't seem right are just a natural result of being ill or damaged. I started suffering ungodly muscle spasms, particularly at night. You know how when you fall asleep, sometimes your body does that all-over jerk that feels like you've just fallen from mid-air? Or sometimes it feels like electricity, or like all of your muscles just have to tighten all at once. It's involuntary, and usually harmless, but with my hip fracture, it was unbearably painful.

I also had a huge amount of nausea, which seemed to be made worse by anxiety. Every time the attending doctor and his little doctorlets came by, I felt ill. When my mom wanted to talk about wedding invitations--what kind of print, wording, whether to say "the parents of" or have them be from Brian and me--I felt queasy. When anybody talked about possible discharge from the hospital, I became ill. Where was I going to go? I couldn't imagine going back to the second-story apartment in Westland. But what else could I do? Brian began searching for other apartments, and looking at options also made me feel queasy.

At this point, I began physical therapy. I was on some level glad to be getting out of that torturous hospital device they call a "bed" and beginning the process of becoming something that wasn't an immobile lump of protoplasm, although actually having to do it was painful, difficult, tiring, and also caused nausea. Sitting up for long was difficult at first, but at least I did know--from previous experience--that it would pass and that getting up and moving around would ultimately be good for me. The physical therapist would show up, bring a walker, and have me try to get out of bed and move around. First it was three feet away from the bed and back. Then it was to the door and back. Then it was through the door, across the hall and back. Each time my jaunts got successively longer, and she recommended--as an alternative to going home or going into an "assistive care facility" (read: "nursing home")--that I be admitted to the intensive rehabilitation unit on the same floor of the hospital. I would do physical and occupational therapy twice a day.

So I moved to the room where I would spend my Christmas.

On my first day of occupational therapy, I was measured for compression stockings and given a set of adaptive equipment of the kind they gave to Grandma when she had her hip injury several years ago. I too got the sock put-er on-er, the grippy thing, the giant shoe horn, the pants hook. I'm not sure if Grandma also got the leg loop (it looks like one of those "invisible dog" leashes) or not; I found mine to be incredibly helpful for moving my legs onto and off of the bed.

Physical therapy consisted of walking for longer and longer distances using the walker (but putting no weight on the right foot), doing leg exercises on the mat, and occasionally doing arm strengthening using the pulleys or fulcrum weights. They also taught skills like stepping up onto a curb using a walker, sitting down in a car seat from either a wheelchair or a walker, and using a crutch to go up and down stairs.

I had too much anxiety to do the stairs. I was just too worried about my hips crumpling like phyllo pastry, and the therapists didn't press me.

Occupational therapy consisted of getting me dressed and showered in the mornings, and in the afternoon doing a combination of eye-hand coordination activities, some arm strengthening activities, and some arts and crafts. I saw people making these rubber mats with the Michigan M and when offered the tubs of colored rubber tiles, decided I would try to get creative and make an aquatic scene. The therapist was getting visibly impatient with me (she wanted to clear space off the counter) and I couldn't spend as much time planning my picture as I wanted, so I had to do a fairly rudimentary scene with two fish, gravel, some plants, and two different colors of blue to indicate the depth of the water.

Nobody told me it was going to be a doormat. If I'd known, as I told one of the substitute therapists on the Christmas break, I would have planned the picture to be horizontally aligned...as it was, they must have thought I was either mentally deranged or just really careless.

The other therapist turned it sideways the way I had planned it. "Oh hey, that's actually pretty cute!"

Labels: anxiety, Brian, doctorlets, Grandma, hip, hospital, mom, nausea, physical therapy, spasms, stairs, walker, wedding, wheelchair

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I went shopping for a bridal gown with my mom yesterday at the David's Bridal a few blocks from here.

You don't just go in and look at stuff hanging on the racks. They take down your information, assign you a consultant, and send you to one of the fitting rooms. The sales consultant provides you with the appropriate underwear (I must say, I was surprised at the sizes required and can only say that at least the resulting bustline will ensure that I have someplace to set my hors d'oeuvre plate if I need to put it somewhere) and then starts to bring dresses which may or may not match what it is you had in mind.

When you try a dress on, there are no mirrors in the fitting room so you have to go into the public area and stand on one of the pedestals in front of the mirrored doors so that everybody in the fitting area can see you. Then they find a veil and headpiece to complete the look. She kept trying different head things, and I asked, "Um, could we worry about the accessories later and try some more dresses?"

Some were too "busy." Some had weird pleats of fabric around the midsection. Some gapped in funny places. I finally tried on one that I had seen in the booklet and decided was a distinct possibility; it was very lovely and simple and faintly Jane Austenlike.

Then I tried on the princess dress.

You know, the one with the yards and yards of fabric, clean lines, and embroidery that added just enough interest without being tacky or too much. I laughed at how much fabric was involved, and it looked astonishing. The elderly lady sitting outside somebody else's dressing room declared it was beautiful and I had to get that one! The consultant thought she might have found the winner, because the dress made me smile so. I thought I would need birds to hold up my train.

As much as one hates to be trapped by stereotype, I confess I have secretly always wanted to have the princess moment. The one where everybody looks at me and imagines there's never been anyone lovelier.

I really didn't know how I'd be able to choose between the two top contenders. One was simple and practical and lovely; the other was a stunning confection of 30 pounds of fabric. Finally my mom went out to help the saleslady scour the racks for the one or two other dresses in the book that I wanted to see, and I said it was up to her to find the one that keeps me from having to choose between the other two.

This is exactly what happened.

See, these dresses never really look like much on the hanger. The photo gives you no idea what they look like in real life. I ended up trying on something I wouldn't have otherwise, and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever worn. It will need to be hemmed and slightly adjusted, but otherwise looks as though it were made for me.

So I'm not going to have the bird-carried sweeping train, but I'll have that moment where people look at me and are amazed that the trouser-wearing librarian can actually look like that.

The dress is in my front closet, and Brian has been warned not to go looking for it.

"It's bad luck," I told him.

He promised he wouldn't peek. "The last thing we need is bad luck," he commented. "I ride a motorcycle and you have cancer."

We both laughed hysterically for several minutes at that one.

Labels: Brian, David's Bridal, dress, gown, mom, wedding

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