Updates on the Updates

Eye, Eye, Matie : My light-sensitive right eye has steadily improved and checked out perfectly today with my ocular surgeon/opthamologist. I guess I won't have to practice my pirate imitation after all.

The Graduatie: Cindy rose to the challenge and turned in all of her overdue economics homework. She'll get to march on Thursday and will receive her diploma if she continues to keep on track with a project that's due this Wednesday.

Company's Comin' on Wednesday: George's sister and brother-in-law will be visiting from the Seattle area, and my favorite niece Emily and her four-month-old baby, Will, will be flying out from Atlanta. I'm looking forward to visiting with everyone, but I especially can't wait to see and hold my great nephew for the first time.

If you don't hear much from me in the next few days, it's because I'm enjoying time with family.

"A" is for Appetite

During chemo, my appetite falls off track faster than a 12th grader with senioritis.

I dutifully order the most nutritious items on the Hotel Hope menu, but a nearly full tray is whisked away hours later. And, I have to admit, that the possibility of the "second coming" (of the food, that is), is a powerful disincentive to chowing down.

The lousy appetite dogs me after my homecoming, but, like clockwork, it miraculously returns within 48 hours. After round one, the potato balls from Porto's Bakery reignited my taste buds. Pork and shrimp shumai from my favorite dumpling house did the trick after round two.

Two days after returning from round three, I offered to bring home pizza from Casa Bianca, a popular family-style Italian joint in Eagle Rock. My appetite hadn't returned yet, so I thought the large pizza pie sitting in the passenger's seat was safe. The aroma of the fennel-laced sausage hit me, and I thought, "Just one small square." But those tasty nibbles woke up my sleeping taste buds, and I couldn't stop myself. After consuming several more squares, I maneuvered the pieces around, hoping noone would notice that a fourth of the pizza was missing. (Unfortunately, I didn't fool anyone.)

Do you see a theme here? Carbs and fat are the perfect antidote to chemo-induced appetite loss. I'm already plotting a breakfast of old-fashioned, high-fat biscuits and sausage gravy to rev up my appetite after round four. Care to join me?

Desperate Housewife?

At last, I have something in common with one of the ladies on Wisteria Lane. No, I don't have two men dueling for my hand in marriage, and I'm not faking a six-month pregnancy.

But I do have Lymphoma. Last week we learned that Lynette's swollen lymph nodes were lymphoma, and tonight we discover that it's the Hodgkin's variety, which she informs a family member is "the one you want to get."

Lynette's mom, a breast cancer survivor, moves in and informs her dazed daughter, "Prepare to be sicker than you can even imagine." Thank God chemo is less debilitating that it was 20+ years ago when Lynette's mom underwent treatment. I hope Lynette has it as easy as I have, but that probably wouldn't make very good drama.

I'm sure every So. Cal lymphoma patient or survivor is thinking the same thing: I should be a consultant on the show. The possibilties are endless. Imagine the girls bonding as they go "up in smoke" at a medical marijuana party.

Updates from Home

I've decided that today is a hang-out-in-pajamas, catch-up-with-paper-work day. (Just not the monogrammed PJs I ordered for Mother's Day. Those are on back order.)

Since returning from Hotel Hope on Tuesday, I've been busier than expected. Here's a brief rundown of what's been going on:

The Future's So Bright, You Gotta' Wear an Eye Patch: My right eye has become so sensitive to light that, even when I'm wearing dark glasses, I squint or completely close the eye to protect it from rays. Dr. Forman is stumped, but I've made an appointment with the ocular surgeon/opthamologist who provided a second opinion prior to my initial tumor biopsy. He's a brilliant, Harvard Med School grad and a former director at the Doheny Eye Institute, but that's not what impressed me most. In addition to taking photos of my eye tumor, he snapped shots of my torso rash and concluded, "I think you're going to find that all of these symptoms are related." How right he was. I'm hoping that he has a solution that doesn't make me look like an extra from Pirates of the Caribbean.

PICC Your Battles: Every night, George flushes out the PICC (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) line with Heperan to clean out the line and prevent the blood from clotting. When he presses down on the Heperan vial and meets resistance, we know that the line is clogged. The last time this happened, a nurse had to remove the old tubing and insert a new PICC line in the opposite arm. This time, I went to the emergency center at CoH, where the nurses inserted a special "PICC Drano" to successfully unclog the line.

Letting Go: We were looking forward to Cindy's graduation from Arroyo Pacific Academy on May 24, but, as of today, we aren't sure if she'll be donning the cap and gown. She has failed to complete her economics homework, a requirement for graduation, and has until the end of the day today to turn in her many missing assignments. I'll keep you posted on the outcome. Needless to say, this has produced considerable stress, anger and disappointment, but I'm working on letting go. Easier said than done.

And, in case you're concerned that I've violated my daughter's privacy by making this information public, let me share a story that highlights the true nature of an 18-year-old who is unfazed by her actions. Her primary concern is that I not blog about the details of her recent visit to the dermatologist's office. (Mum's the word.)

Shower Power: I've also been busy planning a June baby shower for my future "god baby," due in July. Unlike other stressful events in my life, this one is a source of great joy.

Running Nowhere

I had the running dream again last night.

In the BC days, when I had the running dream, someone or something was chasing me.

Now, I'm chasing something. It's not something concrete, like a bus to catch or a baby to save. I don't know what I'm after, but I can't get there fast enough. I run along the side of a picket fence and propel myself by pushing off the stakes, like a breast stroker, shoving back the water and then gliding.

I do it so that I can reach my unknown destination faster and save energy at the same time.

I'm exhausted now. Tonight, I don't want to dream of running. I just want to sleep.

A Tale of Two Lymphomas

For the past few weeks, I've been following the blog of another City of Hope lymphoma patient, 22-year old Jenna.

I felt a connection with her because she's a patient of Dr. Forman's and completed an autologous stem cell transplant (SCT) at the City of Hope in January. Her blog tells the story of her 28-day hospitalization, her rapid recovery, clean PET Scan, and trips to Spain and Mexico just weeks after the completion of her SCT. It's become my favorite bedtime story. ("Mommy, tell me the story about how Jenna has a stem cell transplant at the City of Hope and then drinks sangria in Spain and surfs in Mexico.")

Jenna's blog frequently requested that readers pray for her friend Alese, a 23-year-old woman with Hodgkins Lymphoma. I just checked Jenna's blog and was devastated to learn that Alese passed away two days ago.

After reading Alese's website, I feel small and insignificant. This bright and beautiful girl, diagnosed at age 17, endured an arduous, six-year, bi-coastal battle with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Read Alese's website to learn how to live life, with or without cancer.

Better, smarter, stronger

Is it possible to emerge from MCL better, stronger and smarter? And, more important, is it possible to get all of that on a bracelet?

Sometimes, I inch toward that goal, but on other days (like yesterday), I simply occupy a space in a hospital bed.

On good days, you can spot me pole dancing, doing my 30-minute, in-bed Pilates routine, or working with my Therabands in the hospital lobby.