So, since I had my reproductive bits and bobs removed back in February,
I've been experiencing the joy and wonder that is menopause. At age thirty-six. Which is about, oh, fifteen years earlier than I should be experiencing said joy and wonder.

As you might imagine, ever since, I've been banging on with my doctors about getting on HRT, or Hormone Replacement Therapy. They haven't wanted me to go on it because, and I quote, "the estrogen could make your endometriosis flare." In some cases, like mine, estrogen acts as poison. It would make sense that they would want to limit the potential damage by very carefully reintroducing the same chemical that gave me cancer. But they held out hope: the minute I got off chemo, I could go on it because it was unlikely the endometriosis would survive the chemo. I've been waiting and waiting. It's been the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. No more hot flashes. No more sleep troubles. No more weeping and wailing. I could get through the ungodliness of chemo just to get to the good stuff.

Fortunately for me, I didn't have to wait that long. When Dr. Academic and I chatted last week, before my last treatment, he brought the subject up and asked if I wanted HRT, saying that he would be highly surprised if the endometriosis would be able to survive four treatments of chemotherapy. Dumbstruck, completely caught off-guard, I emphatically nodded yes. He said, "Ok, we'll get you going."

What did he put me on, my devoted Cake Eater readers? Would it be the bioidentical hormones I'd been reading so much about? Would it be some non-equine hormone variant of premarin? Oooh, ooh, Mistah Kottah? Don't keep me in suspense!

Well, the next question out of his mouth threw me for a loop. "Did Orthotricyclen have a low-dose when you were on it?"

Did Orthotricyclen have a low-dose? Orthotricyclen is the pill, ain't it? He's not actually suggesting.... "Uh, no. Just the regular dose. "

"Did you like it?"

"Well, not really. It was too much, if you get what I'm saying. I broke out all the time and gained weight. A lot of weight. That sort of thing."

He nodded. "Ok, well, that's good to know. This'll keep your skin clear and you shouldn't have the weight issues. Lots of women just take it because they won't break out." He bent down, pulled a pen and his prescription pad out of his pocket and scribbled off a prescription in his quick and highly illegible writing.

The absurdity of it hit me and I had to laugh. "I don't have a reproductive system any more and YOU'RE PUTTING ME ON BIRTH CONTROL?"

He simply grinned. "Low-dose birth control," he clarified, "but, yeah, birth control. Funny how it works out sometimes, eh?"

Heh.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:22 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Ovarian cancer sucks.

Ovarian cancer treatment sucks.

But, to be clear, it ain't all bad.

And why isn't it all bad, you ask?

Well, because there's percocet in the world.

That makes up for an awful lot in my book.

The most blessed of molecules.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:34 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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You, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, have an assignment. It is a simple question of the day, so don't get too worried about pop quizzes and all sorts of other stuff that makes you pit out. It is a very simple question.

Ahem.

Will an iPhone blend?

I think the definitive answer is, ahem, yes.

Heh.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:12 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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A fanatic about locally sourced ingredients, Guy Bertrand of Le Singe Amoureux prized ortolan above all other delicacies. He was not alone; devotees of the elusive songbird paid handsomely for his multi-course tasting menus.

Yet Bertrand's legacy was ultimately determined not by a menu, but by a newspaper: the April 6, 1962 edition of Le Monde, which carried a front-page review alleging that Bertrand had been passing off ordinary yellowhammers as ortolan. Reaction was swift; reservations were cancelled, Relais and Chateaux launched a formal inquiry, and ortolan mongers cut off his supply.

The chef denied the charges, but the scorn was unrelenting. Finally, he came to believe the accusations, and on August 14, 1962, Guy Bertrand took his own life with an ortolan boning knife.

Four years later, correspondence was discovered revealing the reviewer's vendetta---born of a failed attempt to woo Mme. Bertrand. Subsequent testing of a confiscated ortolan terrine and fricassee revealed the integrity of their ingredients.

In 1966, Bertrand was posthumously awarded the Legion d'Honneur and today the ortolan is more revered than ever.

---swiped, again, from the local French joint.

{Ed. That must have been a painful way to go. Owie.}

Posted by: Kathy at 12:27 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The husband forwards along this very interesting article from Psychology Today entitled, Ten Politically Incorrect Truths About Human Nature.

A small sampling:

{...}Most suicide bombers are Muslim

Suicide missions are not always religiously motivated, but according to Oxford University sociologist Diego Gambetta, editor of Making Sense of Suicide Missions, when religion is involved, the attackers are always Muslim. Why? The surprising answer is that Muslim suicide bombing has nothing to do with Islam or the Quran (except for two lines). It has a lot to do with sex, or, in this case, the absence of sex.

What distinguishes Islam from other major religions is that it tolerates polygyny. By allowing some men to monopolize all women and altogether excluding many men from reproductive opportunities, polygyny creates shortages of available women. If 50 percent of men have two wives each, then the other 50 percent don't get any wives at all.

So polygyny increases competitive pressure on men, especially young men of low status. It therefore increases the likelihood that young men resort to violent means to gain access to mates. By doing so, they have little to lose and much to gain compared with men who already have wives. Across all societies, polygyny makes men violent, increasing crimes such as murder and rape, even after controlling for such obvious factors as economic development, economic inequality, population density, the level of democracy, and political factors in the region.

However, polygyny itself is not a sufficient cause of suicide bombing. Societies in sub-Saharan Africa and the Caribbean are much more polygynous than the Muslim nations in the Middle East and North Africa. And they do have very high levels of violence. Sub-Saharan Africa suffers from a long history of continuous civil wars—but not suicide bombings.

The other key ingredient is the promise of 72 virgins waiting in heaven for any martyr in Islam. The prospect of exclusive access to virgins may not be so appealing to anyone who has even one mate on earth, which strict monogamy virtually guarantees. However, the prospect is quite appealing to anyone who faces the bleak reality on earth of being a complete reproductive loser.

It is the combination of polygyny and the promise of a large harem of virgins in heaven that motivates many young Muslim men to commit suicide bombings. Consistent with this explanation, all studies of suicide bombers indicate that they are significantly younger than not only the Muslim population in general but other (nonsuicidal) members of their own extreme political organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah. And nearly all suicide bombers are single.

It's good to finally have at least some confirmation that most suicide bombers do what they do, partly, to end their sexual frustration issues.

Go read the rest and be enlightened.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:21 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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While I still have eyebrows.

Even though the flash kind of washes them out and you can't really see them, well, I know they're there.

Pretty bitchin' tan/hair line, no? I can't get the top of my pate tanned for love or money. It just won't do what I tell it to do.

It's acting very much like the hair that used to occupy that space. Go figure.

Sigh.

I can't wait for my hair to grow back.

*Spot the quote and you'll receive a bonus prize. Well, no, you won't, but you can bask in the admiration of your fellow commenters who got it wrong or didn't know it. Which, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is really all the recognition you'll need in a lifetime, no?

Posted by: Kathy at 09:00 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Without further ado, here's what's running around in my head this morning. Ahem.

• It's amazing how everything greens up after a good gullywasher. As Lileks mentioned, we got some rain yesterday. A lot of rain. I would wager the official measurement was close to two inches by the time it was all said and done in the early hours of the evening. Since the temperature had reached a whopping ninety-seven degrees on Saturday, and was already at eighty-three by nine a.m. yesterday, it was a given we were going to get pounded. That's just the way the weather works here in the Midwest: high pressure makes it hot, low pressure will, inevitably, start something with the high pressure, and BOOM goes the thunder and lightning. It will then cool off for a time, and then, because it's the Midwest and we're all about predictability, the whole process will start all over again. The thunderstorms were actually so bad yesterday that the husband, who is not easily spooked by electrically charged skies, unplugged all of the computers, lest they be chicken-fried by a surge of electricity.

  And, yes, for the record, our computers are plugged into surge protectors. Ironically enough, however, our televisions aren't. The husband did not go around unplugging those. Anyone want to make a guess which electrical appliances the husband rates higher on his scale of priorities?

• I've come to the conclusion that ovarian cancer has forced me to make a grand trade: my period for chemo.

  Neither one is a lot of fun, but at least with my period the joy arrived every twenty-eight days, instead of the twenty-one day cycle I'm on with chemo.

  If there is an upside to this trade, it means I no longer have to come up with monthly payola for the Playtex protection racket.

  Why the Justice Department wastes its time with organized crime instead of investigating---and prosecuting---the perpetrators in the Grand Tampon Price Gouging Conspiracy is beyond me. It's an open and shut case and one that will please over half the electorate if taken up. What administration could resist?

  My devoted male Cake Eater readers can stop cringing now. I'm done with talking about tampons for the time being, and given the circumstances, probably forever. Consider yourselves lucky.

• And speaking of what seems are my neverending trials of chemotherapy, I know, because the mailbag tells me so, that some of you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, are wondering how I'm doing with all of this. I'm fine, thank you for asking. I appreciate your concern, but honestly, I'm getting bored with all of this cancer nonsense, so I'm assuming some of you must be, as well. Hence, I've decided to stop bleating so much about it.

  That said, here's a quick update for the people who care. And if you don't, well, skip past this bit---and all the other bits---with my blessing. I understand. Really and truly I do.

  Anyway, I undergo my fifth treatment this coming Friday, the thirteenth. (No one---AND I MEAN NO ONE---should make any cracks about the date lest we tempt fate. I'm trying not to make any prophecies that have even the remotest chance of becoming self-fulfilling in this regard, and I expect you to make the same effort.) The treatments are, indeed, beginning to add up and I don't think I'm looking very much like the poster child for wellness during chemo that Dr. Academic believes me to be. I'm pale under my tan. (I never actually understood that description before. I do now.) I have big dark smudges under my eyes that never seem to go away. In other words, I'm beginning to look like I'm ill. Again. Only this time I've got the added joy of hair loss to accentuate the overall look. I suspect I look quite good in comparison to Dr. Academic's other patients, and which is why he goes on and on about how well I look, but compared to the average, healthy, human being, well, even if I wasn't as bald as an egg, you can definitely tell there's something off.

  I'm feeling pretty good this time around and that's due to a shot of this stuff. Two weeks ago today, two days after my fourth treatment, at Dr. Academic's "request," I went back down to his office to be shot up with this stuff, which is a white cell, or immune system, booster. The thing with chemo is that it kills as much of the good stuff you need to run your body as it does the bad stuff you don't want around. Apparently my white blood cell numbers after treatment three were a cause for concern and Dr. Academic prescribed me the Neulasta because, as he said, it would make me feel better. And it did. It just took a week to kick in. My energy levels are much higher than they were after the third cycle of chemo and I'm feeling pretty healthy on the whole.

  There are just two things that I'm not crazy about with this drug. First, somehow, I managed to contract a cold (in July, no less!) after I received this white cell booster, which makes me suspicious about just how my immune system was boosted. Second, do you have any idea how much this junk costs? Prepare to be shocked. $3100 for one shot---and that's with a thirteen percent discount. Now, I'm as much of a fan of the free market as you're going to find in the general population. I believe there should be market rewards for those who innovate, and it's obvious that Amgen has innovated in this case. Yet, am I alone in thinking that the fact they advertise for chemo patients to "ask their doctor" for this stuff, "right from the start," when it's most likely not needed, is a bit of overkill? I didn't receive it after my fourth treatment---out of a total of six. I suspect I'm not alone in this regard. Oncologists already make good use of this stuff when their patients need it---and anyone who's in the treatment room when the schedulers are doing their thing, and announce to all and sundry that so and so has to come in the next day for a shot of Neulasta, knows the same. There's no reason for Amgen to advertise this stuff in the first place, because, undoubtedly, they're already making money hand over fist, let alone instruct chemotherapy patients to ask for this very expensive injection because, ahem, there's nothing else on the market like it. There's no competitor that I know of. There's no generic equivalent, either. The only reason Amgen is advertising is to boost sales to keep the shareholders happy. That's fine for the time being, I suppose. But if Hillary, or any one of her Democratic cohorts, snaffles up the presidency next year, you can bet that Amgen will be held up as a case study in greed when the issue of universal healthcare is brought up. Because you know it will be if a Democrat becomes president, no matter whom that particular Democrat might be.

  That won't make for such great PR, my fine feathered pharmaceutical friends, and will make the case for socialized medicine, with many, many price controls on things like pharmaceuticals, all the more compelling. Ya might want to think about that before your next ad buy, Amgen.

• Here's an excellent Berry Pie recipe for y'all to try if you can find reasonably priced berries in your local supermarket or farmer's market. Very tasty and it has the Cake Eater Seal of Approval.

  The only thing I will add by way of instruction is to let the berries cool. And when I say cool, I mean "refrigerate for at least an hour after cooking" otherwise you'll end up with some highly edible berry slop in a pie crust.

  Yes, I learned this the hard way, why do you ask?

• I've been working my way through Simon Winchester's extensive catalog of works over the past several months, when I am capable of giving his writing the attention it deserves. (Anesthesia and chemotherapy not being great supporters of the skills of concentration.) I started with Krakatoa, and I enjoyed it so much, I moved on to The Sun Never Sets, which was published in the 1980's and is now published under the title Outposts: Journeys to the Surviving Relics of the British Empire, which I really do think he should update simply because someone needs to go to St. Helena and see if the schoolkids slide down the railings of that massive staircase still. I moved on to A Crack in the Edge of the World and The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary.

  Now, before I go further, I have to say that I really enjoy the way Winchester writes. He has an engaging style that informs but never condescends. He is never stingy with the information, either, and if he finds an interesting fact in his research, he'll share it with the reader in the footnotes. I've read some criticism that claims he digresses too much. That may be true, but his digressions are never boring, are most likely amusing in some fashion, and even if they don't add anything to the story he's laboring to tell, don't manage to take anything away from it, either. When it comes to his works that deal with natural disasters, like say, Krakatoa he gives you the overall picture of just what is going on with the geology, and he does so in a way that not only will you, the layman, understand, he does it in a way that you, too, can blather on at cocktail parties about plate tectonics and the Wallace Line using his examples. The thing is, your fellow cocktail partygoers will think you interesting if you use Winchester's examples. In the wrong hands, the geologic information his books contain could be very, very dry; in Winchester's, well, it's safe, for the most part. However, there is one book of his that is the exception that proves this rule. It is The Map That Changed the World: William Smith and the Birth of Geology and oy vey is it boring. Perhaps there's just not enough natural disaster in this book to make me want to labor through the portions on geology. I don't know. But I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever, at almost halfway, going to actually get onto the story of William Smith and his map, instead of reading about the seemingly fascinating geology of Oxfordshire and Sussex, England. Bleh.

  I need a volcano to explode. And soon. Otherwise I'm giving up.

• I will be posting a picture of my bald self sometime in the near future. Just as soon as I gin up the courage up actually pose for one. I'm doing this now because my eyebrows are almost non-existent and I would like to do it before they go completely and I look like Mrs. Potato Head without the eyelashes and eyebrows.
• In a related aside, forget the diamonds. Eyebrow pencil really is the bald girl's best friend.

  Although, I will state this much: it's very easy to go too far with the pencil. The line is very easy to cross. (Ha Ha. Get it? I kill myself sometimes.) Some days you look good. Some days you look like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. And it's not always easy to know when you're ready for your close-up, if you take my meaning.

• Steve-O is pretty much right on with his review of Live Free or Die Hard. Except for the fact that he says you shouldn't go see it. You should. Just at matinee prices.

  It's John McClane, for fuck's sake. You have to go see it. Or the terrorists will win.

  That said, I thought it was pretty ridiculous that a fighter pilot would be stupid enough to place his very expensive jet underneath a crumbling freeway. Just. Not. Gonna. Happen. I also though casting this guy as the FBI Director in charge of rounding up hackers, was a HUUUUUUGE mistake, because he, apparently, graduated from the Shatner School of Acting. With honors. Good Christ, the man sucked big, honking boulders he was so bad. And the contrast was made even more obvious because the always excellent Zeljko Ivanek was, somehow, his subordinate and showed him up in every scene, even if he really didn't have all that much to do. Every time Zeljko was onscreen, he did his job and he did it superbly. Yet, his big blue eyes also seemed to be pleading with the audience, "Yes, I know this guy sucks. Yes, I know I should be playing his part. You are correct in assuming I would do a good job with it. Unfortunately, I have a mortgage payment, just like everyone else, so forgive me for taking the work where I can find it. I promise to do better next time."

  I felt badly for Ivanek by the time the movie was over. I felt embarrassed to be a fan of a franchise who wouldn't take the opportunity to drain his immeasurable talents to the last drop for the benefit of all.

  I also thought that most reviewers, including Steve-O, missed the delicious irony of Mac Guy playing a hacker---who never touched a Mac. Heh. At least they got that bit right. It never ceases to piss me off when they show hackers working on Macs. No No NO NO. It doesn't work that way. Least of all because you cannot freakin' right click with a Mac. Sheesh.

And that's it for now, my devoted Cake Eater Readers.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:42 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 Inside you head appears to be a very interesting and entertaining place to be! ; )

Posted by: Chrissy at July 09, 2007 01:10 PM (6yHgW)

2 And here I thought it was boring.

Posted by: Kathy at July 09, 2007 02:22 PM (COFij)

3 Thanks for the pie recipe! It looks yummy. Love Emeril desserts. We're HUGE Winchester fans here too. Hubby being a rock hound by trade, he of course is besotted with them all, except "The Professor and the Madman"..... but I agree with you about the "The Map that Changed the World", myself.

Posted by: caltechgirl at July 09, 2007 06:42 PM (qPLLC)

4 Damnit! I missed the pie recipe by THATMUCH. My neighbor brought over a bucket full of handpicked raspberries. And I, being the kitchen dweeb that I am, did not think to look for a PIE RECIPE. Oh no. At present, tho, I have some raspberry preserves cooking in the bread machine. Yep. In the bread machine. Is it wrong that I cackled at the Swanson remark? Probably. Heh. AMEN AND GOD BLESS YOU FOR SAYING SO about the Great Tampon Conspirishee. I will NEVER understand, either, why the ones with no applicator are even MORE 'spensive. Go figure. BUT, I will say, however, that it's too difficult and not recommended that you "roll your own," so for now we're stuck with the price gouging. Finally, I cannot f'n believe how much that stuff costs. I can't remember what it was a very dear one to me had to have; it was a blood "booster" in the same vein (hahhahah I kill me) as Neulasta. There's gotta be a way to get that more inexpensively. GOT. TO. BE. The way I understand drug patents is: they have exclusivity for a year (?) and then other drug companies can make generic equivalents. Anyway. You look beautiful and I love you and I'm so glad you're feeling better. In the words of Billy Chrystal: you LOOOK MAHVELOUS. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at July 10, 2007 10:05 AM (p12TW)

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Crap, that's funny.

Hat Tip: The Llamas

Posted by: Kathy at 03:52 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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No sommelier had ever risen so rapidly as Bordeaux native Henri Marnier. At age 30 he had built a storied wine cellar at Au Troll Mignon in Neuilly. By the time he was 35, Henri's opinion could make or break entire harvests.

Across the ocean in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, no star at Cletus Siding blazed brighter than that of Burt Stump, winner of a national sales incentive trip to Paris.

So it was, on April 4, 1966, that the two had their one and only encounter. Following Henri's counsel, the Stumps ordered a '58 Chateaux Margaux. Stump took a sip and pronounced it "undrinkable." Marnier pronounced it "eminently drinkable." Stump said, "Fine, you drink it." Marnier answered, "Fine, I will," then finished the bottle in front of the Stumps, taking two hours to do so. "Margaux," he said, "will not be swilled."

Two hours later, France's premier sommelier collapsed. Three weeks later, he succumbed to Margaux-induced sepsis.

Four decades later, Henri Marnier remains "Le Martyr de Bordeaux." Burt and Brandine Stump enjoy an active retirement in Coral Gables, Florida.

---from a handout that encompassed our check at the local French joint.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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A little over a month ago I get this envelope in the mail. Or rather, the husband, got this envelope in the mail up at his shop. It had somehow been forwarded up yonder thanks to the genius that is the United States Postal Service and its merry band of screwy brothers.

Since I get a lot of envelopes in the mail, and most of them are from people I owe money to, that we received an envelope in the mail is generally not too big of a deal in the scheme of things. What was a big deal, however, was the somewhat cryptic return address on said envelope. You might imagine that, with an unusual return address, the husband would decide to have a little fun. After much taunting me via email, he finally clued me in on the return address.

It read: The Joint Staff, C4 Systems Directorate (J6).

Huh?

And that's all the husband emailed me.

So, after a few moments of me pondering if the man I married had a slight sadistic streak to him, the husband decided he knew what was good for him and gave up the goods without further delay: turns out it was an invitation to a retirement review for my cousin, Dennis, aka The Big Cheese.

This is Dennis. That would be Major General Dennis C. Moran to you, my devoted Cake Eater readers. There's going to be a band playing and a parade in his (and two other retiring generals') honor at Fort Myer, Virginia this afternoon. Hell, they might even shoot off some ammunition, I just wouldn't count on it if you happen to be the in vicinity. The Army's cheap that way.

Longtime devoted Cake Eater readers will know that I've hinted here and there that I had a relative who was a Grand Poobah in the service. For you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, the mystery is finally solved. (You knew I'd get around to it sometime, didn't you? Way to keep the faith!) I never outed Dennis before because I figured he had enough to deal with. I may never have outed Dennis to you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, and while I'm fairly certain he's delightfully ignorant about the existence of this blog, he is important in Cake Eater Lore, if anyone cares about such things, because he's the reason why I have never, ever criticized the Armed Forces or the invasion or anything military related on this here blog. It has nothing to do with fears of putting him in harm's way---he's Signals; he's generally never in harm's way when he's actually at war, but rather well behind the harm---but rather because I didn't want to come off like some idiot Napoleon-wannabe, thinking I knew more about the situation than I actually did. Because generals always know more than some idiot blogger, who probably thinks that because they watched the original bombardment of Baghdad on CNN in 1991 they have some right---and the necessary skill---to criticize current military maneuvers. (Andrew Sullivan, thy name is legend.) There are plenty of those folks in the blogosphere. Don't get me wrong: they're entitled to come off like a jackass if they want to. But I know from personal experience (over plates of funeral food in my brother's basement, if you must know the awful truth--oh, yeah, you can almost smell the awkwardness, can't you?) you just generally sound like an idiot when you don't have all the information involved. Dennis taught me this, even if that wasn't his intention.

After a long and fulfilling career in the military, Dennis is finally hanging it up today. We've long followed his career and we've always been proud of him and his numerous accomplishments. (Except when he worked in Bubba Clinton's White House, but that's another story entirely) Of course, chemo is preventing me from actually attending the review, which is a crying ass shame because there's no place I'd rather be later today. He deserves the fanfare of a big parade and review because he's toiled in the background for our country, making sure people could talk to one another, ever since he was in college---over thirty years ago. He's yet another soldier who was just doing their job, but he's done it well and for that I thank him.

Congratulations Dennis!

Posted by: Kathy at 11:14 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Why, why, why must all the good parties happen the day after I have chemo?

First, I missed these guys' bash. And that's always a shame because Tracy and the LME always put out a good spread. Lubricated with lots of good booze, too.

Now I must miss yet another chance to spend the evening, flitting hither and thither around the bar, hiding from Lileks.

Because you know he's my biggest fan.

It's just not fair, damnit.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:56 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Yesterday, I met with a medical oncologist in Dr. Academic's practice to discuss the results of the genetic testing I mentioned in the middle of this very screedy post. Apparently, she's the one who deals with all the genetic testing in the practice, hence I met with her instead of Dr. Academic.

After showing up late for the appointment (Seriously, can these doctors EVER run on time? Would that be too much to ask? I've got things to do with my day and YOU'RE WASTING MY TIME WHEN YOU'RE LATE FOR MY APPOINTMENT!), she told me I came back negative for the BRCA mutation. She looked somewhat disappointed when I didn't drop to my knees and start kissing the carpet in an effort to show profound thanks to the Cancer Gods, but since I'd already cheered this discovery three weeks ago, when I chatted with Dr. Academic before my last treatment and he told me about the results, it wasn't like that was going to happen anyway.

While this is a good thing, and I'm happy for what it means in terms of not having increased surveillance for breast cancer, and for my siblings, too, who would have been run around the bend and beyond getting their own genetic testing and increased surveillance done, I'm not really sure how I feel about the fact we're still clueless as to how I came to be an ovarian cancer patient in the first place.

What's better in this situation? To finally know how something happened, or to be told that this incredibly painful and challenging experience that has taken up almost six months of my life is, and I quote, "a fluke"?

What's better? To know the cause of something, even though you probably couldn't have prevented said something in the first place, or to have to surrender your health for the better part of a year to the whims of chaos theory?

I don't know.

And that bothers me.

It's like having an unbearable itch that you can't scratch because Fate and the God of That-Which-We-Do-Not Know-Yet have your arms tied behind your back with a zip tie.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:08 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 I vote for "better to know the cause." Because it would just bug me not to know. Unless the cause would make me feel guilty. Then I'd go with "better not to know." Of course you wouldn't know if it would make you feel guilty unless you knew what it was. Maybe better not to know so as not to take the risk. Of course that would also prevent you from knowing even if it would be the good kind of knowing. Hope this helped.

Posted by: Doug Williams at June 20, 2007 01:23 PM (IDBCo)

2

Posted by: Kathy at June 20, 2007 04:42 PM (4zpeM)

3 If it helps, even if you HAD the mutation, you still wouldn't know it was the cause - it'd just be very likely.

Posted by: Sigivald at June 21, 2007 04:27 PM (4JnZM)

4 According to my doctor, I'm a fluke breast cancer patient. My genetic testing came back negative, too. Yeah, I've been asking myself the same questions. If this isn't my genetics, then what on Earth is it? Did my boobs get mad because I called them small? *Looks down at chest* I was only kidding, you know. *Shrugs* I'm just hoping that whatever happened, it never happens again. I so don't want to do this again.

Posted by: Amy at June 25, 2007 05:07 PM (jI8YL)

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Sniff.

Please, God, let little Connie win. That will show me there is at least a modicum of justice in this world. Paris Hilton's in the slammer and this little girl, singing for the Queen. Justice, baby. Justice.

All will be right in the world if she wins.

Hat tip: WWTDD---which is completely random if you're a follower of that blog. Seriously.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:03 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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To paraphrase the husband: There's a reason why AT&T's nicknamed "The Death Star."

AT&T Inc. has joined Hollywood studios and recording companies in trying to keep pirated films, music and other content off its network — the first major carrier of Internet traffic to do so.

The San Antonio-based company started working last week with studios and record companies to develop anti-piracy technology that would target the most frequent offenders, said James W. Cicconi, an AT&T senior vice president.

The nation's largest telephone and Internet service provider also operates the biggest cross-country system for handling Internet traffic for its customers and those of other providers.

As AT&T has begun selling pay-television services, the company has realized that its interests are more closely aligned with Hollywood, Cicconi said in an interview Tuesday. The company's top leaders recently decided to help Hollywood protect the digital copyrights to that content.

"We do recognize that a lot of our future business depends on exciting and interesting content," he said.{...}

{my emphasis}

So, basically what we have here is an ISP saying they're going to start patrolling their pipes for copyright infringers. This means not only will BitTorrent whores be singled out for their bandwidth hogging ways, but could, conceivably, extend to anyone who looks at a clip from a tee vee show on You Tube. AT&T is doing this because they value their relationship with Hollywood more than they do the customers who fork over God only knows how much per month for internet service, and who, essentially, keep their business in business.

Ironically, they're doing this so they have access to future content to sell to said internet subscribers.

Who won't be able to download it without thinking long and hard about whether AT&T could potentially cut off their internet service if they do.

Idiots.

The only funny bit about this is that Cingular, which as the commercials incessantly remind us is "now the New At&T" is launching the iPhone at the end of the month. It's not clear what, specifically, this means for iPhone suckers users, but I don't suspect it'll be anything good when it comes to providing content for that nifty little screen you're supposed to be able to watch movies and tee vee on.

See also: Tech Crunch and Tech Dirt

Posted by: Kathy at 11:00 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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{Insert the sound of my bald head smacking against my desk here. Repeat fifteen times, then take some advil.}

This should be a big honkin' sign you have too much bloody money:

{...}"I've taken the time to familiarize myself with the impressive field of Democratic candidates and am convinced that
Hillary Clinton is the most qualified candidate to lead us from her first day in the White House," Spielberg said in a statement.

Spielberg, a founding partner of DreamWorks Studio and the director of such films as "Jurassic Park," "Schindler's List" and "Saving Private Ryan," had waited several months to decide which candidate to endorse as Democratic hopefuls jousted for Hollywood's financial backing.

His decision reflects Clinton's growing support among show business heavyweights following a period in which many donors hedged their bets by giving money to several candidates, including Clinton, Illinois Sen. Barack Obama and former North Carolina Sen.
John Edwards.

"My sense is that there continues to be three very strong talented Democratic front-runners, and there's a long way to go," said Andy Spahn, Spielberg's political advisor.{...}

{my emphasis}

Steven Spielberg has his own political advisor?

Are you kidding me?

There is actually a class of working politicos who advise film directors as to whom they should endorse for the Democratic nomination for president?

Again, are you fucking kidding me?

Give it to the poor, Stevie. Give it to the poor. Or, in the absence of any poor people in Beverly Hills, give it to me. I'll spend it wisely. I promise.

I'm so glad he chimed in with his decision, too. Because I've been waiting for it like I've been waiting for the sequel to War of the Worlds.

Or a case of the clap.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:48 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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How dumb, precisely, do you have to be to not know which cord on your laptop is the power supply?

And by that I mean the cord that you, ahem, plug into a electrical socket.

One of the husband's regular customers is, apparently, this dumb.

Seriously.

Reportedly this person manages steady, well paid employment in the entertainment industry.

Oh, wait. Maybe I just answered my own question.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:18 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Quickly, because I've got a life to lead while I'm feeling well enough to lead it...

• I've come up with a new slot to peg another group of gogglers listed out in this post and it is the Who Let the Sick Person Out? Jesus, Really, My Latte Has 95% Less Sugar-Free Vanilla Now That A Bald, Sick Person Was Allowed to Enter My Orbit People.

  Curiously enough, they never say anything; when they lay their eyes on me, they simply look like someone abruptly shoved a lemon into their mouth and forced them to suck on it.

  According to these people, I'm, evidently, committing an etiquette faux pas when I'm out and about. It seems as if you look sick, you should be keeping your bald self at home, where you don't ruin this particular group's day by reminding them cancer exists.

• I was at the grocery store yesterday, picking up some things I needed for supper. Since it was a holiday, there were only a few cashiers working, and, as there were only a few people milling about the cash registers, it seemed as if the management had scheduled appropriately to maximize the employee-customer ratio for the benefit of all involved.

  I had five items in my hands, and because I wanted to get in and get out, like most normal human beings, I entered the lane with no people in line to pay. This should be standard operating procedure, no?

  Well, that's where you'd be wrong, my devoted Cake Eater readers.

  Two lanes over, an older, mustachioed gentleman, dressed up for the holiday in a sports coat, slacks, a polo shirt and loafers, was chatting with some friends he'd spotted. This is a normal occurrence in the local Cake Eater grocery store. It's a pretty tight-knit community and it's rare to go to the store and not run across fellow customers having a chat with friends they've run into. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Yesterday, however, was the exception that proved the rule.

  I entered said empty lane, thinking nothing of it. While I was waiting for the cashier to finish up with the person in front of me, I look over and I see the gentleman wrapping up his conversation and moving toward my lane. When he was halfway there---and keep in mind, we're talking about a single check-out lane's worth of distance----he said something, loudly, to his friends that implied someone had taken his spot in line. I don't remember exactly what he said, but the meaning was clear: someone had hoarked what was rightly his and he felt he needed to make a point about it. He followed it up with, "But I should probably let her go first anyway, don't you think?" It didn't take a rocket scientist to suss out that he was referring to me.

  While I was standing there, stunned, I wondered how he could have possibly thought I'd stolen his place in a line he was patently not occupying. Before I got too far into my mental meanderings, however, he then laughed in manner that I'm sure he thought would proclaim to the world that he was a wit, because not only had he managed to school me, he'd managed to come off as a good, properly sympathetic human being for being generous to a cancer patient.

  Bastard.

  If the jerk thought I'd taken his place---which I don't possibly see how ANY REASONABLE PERSON could deduce since he wasn't, ahem, in line, but was TWO, count 'em, two lines over---then he should have said so. Don't give me a freakin' pass because you think I'm on the verge of death. Spare me your fucking benevolence, pal. I've got people who are paid cash money to give me a hard time---and, believe you me, they don't care that I'm a cancer patient; I don't need to take your garbage for free.

  Yet, if you insist on dishing it out, that's just fine. I can take it.

  But you'd better be prepared for me to give it right back to you.

  Unfortunately, however, I didn't get the chance to unload both barrels at the guy because the bastard didn't even get into his precious line! He went to the cashier next to me. Can you believe this shit? The guy didn't even give me a chance to rip him a new one. The gall of it!

While the overwhelming majority of people whom I've come across since I've gone bald have been very, very kind, it's people like this who remind you that, well, perhaps we haven't evolved as much as we'd like to think we have. These people are unbelievably self-centered. They think the world revolves around them and their wishes, and if they're nice to me, well, it's still all about them. Don't get me wrong: I'm not looking for any favors or special treatment; I just want to be treated like I would be if I had hair.
Most people go out of their way to make sure this is the end result of their efforts. I've been behind the counter before---I know how hard it is to ignore what's right in front of you to make sure you offer an unusual customer the same customer service experience everyone else gets. My former employers actually trained us to do this. This training, when it became patently clear it was the correct way to go, bled into everyday life. I assumed most people knew this. I was wrong, I guess, to make that assumption. That my wrapped up, chemo'ed head can and does bring out the worst in some people, is something quite interesting, eh, my devoted Cake Eater readers?

There's insight to be had everywhere you look. You just need to observe to find it.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:46 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Countess Rugen, I presume?

Posted by: Kathy at 10:38 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 EWWWW! I do believe that if I were cursed with the same affliction I would avoid sandals at all costs!

Posted by: Janette at May 23, 2007 02:03 PM (5R+zg)

2 Those comments made me dumber.

Posted by: Sigivald at May 24, 2007 05:22 PM (4JnZM)

3 poor woman!

Posted by: solemio at May 28, 2007 09:35 AM (OmPxo)

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Longtime Cake Eater readers will know that I periodically come back to Mikhail Khodorkovsky's troubles because I find the situation to be emblematic of how life moves in Putin's Russia nowadays---lots of brilliant chess moves, but no payoff in seeing how the match ends because the curtains will have been pulled long before that point. Khodorkovsky's tale is long, but I'll try to hit the high points quickly: local boy makes good in new captialist system, overreaches with his oil company at a time when Mother Russia needs cash, annoying those in charge---whilst simultaneously funding opposition parties---is arrested at gunpoint on his private jet in Siberia just days before he was to merge his company with another rival, and then spends years trying to clear his name of tax evasion and fraud charges, only to fail and wind up in a Siberian prison camp. And it ain't over yet. Khodorkovsky is biding his time, working on his PhD in prison whilst trying to be a bit of a martyr for democratic causes, and Putin's prosecutors have ginned up some more charges of embezzlement and money laundering, to try and keep him in jail.

This is the stuff of a Jeffrey Archer novel. It's awesome and it's interesting. You could make this stuff up, but if you did, well, you'd be Jeffrey Archer and I think we've all learned the hard way that one of him is sufficient enough to supply novels about trashy tycoons.

Khodorkovsky isn't the hell-bound-for-democracy-saint his human rights lawyers make him out to be, but neither is he the devil Putin claims is intent on robbing all that is good and holy about Mother Russia (i.e. her natural resources). The truth lies somewhere in between and a big mystery has evolved over the past couple of days in regards to selling off the last of Yukos'---Khodorkovsky's company---properties. Rosneft, the Russian state oil company, via seizures and less than fair market priced bidding at Yukos' many fire sales, has pretty much acquired Yukos, and all its assets, lock stock and barrel. This has lead to much speculation that all the charges against dear old Mikhail were trumped up (which, to be truthful, they probably were) and that Putin was simply trying to bankrupt the company so the state could profit.

But there's a twist---because you were waiting for the twist, weren't you?-----the Yukos office building in Moscow, all twenty-two floors of what appears to be unispired concrete, went on the block on Friday, in what was to be the final nail in Yukos' coffin. Everyone assumed that Rosneft would pick it up on the cheap, like it has all the other remnants of Yukos, but, surprisingly, when all was said and done, Rosneft was outbid by an obscure company no one knows anything about.

Curious.

{...}All of Yukos' production assets and refineries now belong to the state-controlled oil company OAO Rosneft, which has dominated the liquidation auctions that began in March. Once an underachiever among Russian oil companies, Rosneft has become the biggest producer in Russia, pumping 2.1 million barrels per day - or the same as Nigeria or Iraq.

In a fitting echo of the many murky twists in Yukos' downfall, the final auction on Friday came to an unexpected end.

Lot number 13, which included Yukos' 22-story, green-and-brown Moscow headquarters, should have been a victory lap for Rosneft. The towering downtown building would have made an appropriate home for the new oil giant that emerged from Yukos' remains.

But an unknown company won the auction after a grueling 2 1/2 hours of bidding that saw the opening price nearly quintuple - an unheard of result for the auctions, all of which have appeared to be closely scripted.

After 706 back-and-forth bids from Rosneft's subsidiary Neft-Aktiv and OOO Prana, the mysterious company made the winning bid - US$3.9 billion. By the end the auctioneer, who called three breaks in the bidding, was sounding hoarse. {...}

According to an article in Saturday's FT, which has since disappeared behind the subscriber wall, the building isn't worth that much.

The last bankruptcy sale of Mikhail Khodorkovsky's Yukos ended in mystery yesterday when an obscure company bought an auctioned lot, including Yukos' headquarters building, for almost $4bn, in what looked at first glance to be the most expensive property deal in recent history.

The company, Prana, bid nearly five times the starting price of Rs22bn ($852m) to head off state-controlled Rosneft in 707 rounds of bidding.

Observers were baffled by the price paid for the lot, which, at first glance, inclused only the office building, and a couple of shell companies.

Moscow property experts estimated Yukos' tower block was worth no more than $300m. "It's not new. It's not in the centre. This sum just does not fit the building, said Constantine Demetriou, head of capital markets at Jones Lang Lasalle in Moscow.

{...}Rosneft had widely been expected to snaffle the headquarters to cap its takeover of Yukos. The state-controlled oil major has faced little competition in previous bankruptcy auctions in which it has snapped up all of Yukos's remaining production units and refinieries in bidding often lasting less than ten minutes.

The break-up of Yukos over $33bn in back-tax demands has helped propel Rosneft to the position of Russia's biggest oil producer.

But yesterday's price bring the total raised from the Yukos bankruptcy sale to Rbs824bn. This substantially exceeds the company's total debts of Rbs709bn, fuelling Yukos shareholders' claims the company was bankrupted illegally to benefit the state and Rosneft.{...}

So, the questions that immediately come to mind are: who would pay so much for an office block that's not worth anywhere nearly as much as it was bought for, and why would they do it? Was there perhaps something more valuable included in the lot? Could very well be:

{...}Alexander Temerko, Yukos' former vice president, said he had information that trading entities included in yesterdays' lot held more than $4.5bn in cash from oil sales by Yukos' two remaining production units.{...}

{all my emphasis}

So, what the fuck, my devoted Cake Eater readers, eh? Can one not have some serious fun trying to imagine what, precisely, is going on behind the scenes here? After plotting for months from his Siberian prison cell, did Mikhail Khodorkovsky manage to hold onto some of his assets, because only he truly knew their value, via an outside buyer? Which, if true, would make him a playa' again---big time. How did Rosneft manage to miscalculate so egregiously? Did they have any clue what they were up against? Or were they simply outplayed?

It's good fun to imagine what went down, no? Because, God only knows, we're never likely to know what actually happened.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:04 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I had my second treatment on Friday.

Bleh.

I was required to check in at the oncologist's office at 9:20 a.m. Before I left at, roughly, three p.m. I endured a doctor's visit, one blood draw for labs (which all turned out pretty damn good, considering), and three separate attempts to hook me up to an IV, which would deliver the chemo. First try went bad after an hour, when the needle started banging up against a nerve, which in turn made my left hand and wrist hurt. They tried to back it out, to see if they could pull it away from the nerve but it didn't work. So the nurse then tried to stick me again, on the underside of my left forearm and that didn't work either---and I now have a big bruise to prove it. Finally, she called it quits (standard operating procedure meant to ensure the least amount of embarrassment and feelings of failure on both sides of the needle) and had another nurse come over and install an IV in my right hand instead. Which, of course, hurt as much as the first one, but I wasn't going to complain, simply because I wanted to get the hell out of there. The treatment room is fine and comfortable; my chemo buddies are fun to hang out with and we have nice chats, but there are other things I'd prefer to do with my day, if you get my meaning.

What I find interesting about all of this is that it takes a few days for the worst of the side effects to show up. You'd expect, considering all the toxic drugs that they're pumping into your system via a vein, you'd be sick immediately. Nope. While you don't necessarily feel great for the first two days, you can still function. The real joy shows up on day three and four. Which is where we're at now. Bone pain is my main wonder and worry right now. In my fibia, tibia, femur, hips, pubic bone, wrists---and wonder of wonders---the bottom rib on my right hand side. It's not as bad this time around as it was last because of a wonder drug named---ahem---Claritin. Go freakin' figure how this over the counter antihistamine works better than all the advil in the world, but it does. The only problem with it is that, well, you have to take twice as much as the box recommends you take (which is only intended for allergy use, mind you) to get the relief. Dr. Academic suggested this treatment when I met with him on Friday and I about bopped him on his pointy little academic head for not mentioning it sooner, particularly when he KNEW I was having problems with it last time. He is SUCH an academic, in fact, that on the white board in the examining room, he pulled up a diagram to get to the board, cleared off the board with an eraser and then wrote out the name "Claritin" in red dry erase marker, to emphasize the point. (What can I say? The man's got a flair for the dramatic, teachable moment.) What killed me, however, is that he spelled it wrong. Sigh. Alas, he's a busy man, and can't be expected to keep up with the least little bit of pain experienced by all of his patients going through chemo. Because, as I've learned from chatting with a few of them in the treatment room, he's got a lot of patients going through chemo (he's only in the office two days a week and he schedules them for when he can be there to oversee things, so a goodly portion of the treatment room is filled with his patients) and most of them are A LOT worse off than me. Stage II and Stage III women, who will be battling this disease with everything they've got----and, given the statistics, will most likely lose---while I'm just receiving a "prevention" round. I feel guilty calling the nurse every time I've got questions, lest I be distracting from someone who really needs the time and information the woman can part with. It's sad, but I really think that, partly, Dr. Academic enjoys being able to treat me because he thinks he can cure me. We get along, and he's not afraid to chat with me for extended periods of time and to have a laugh. I'm not so sure he's the same with his other patients.

Alas, I'm just being whiny. I survived it last time. I'll survive it this time around, too. Dr. Academic said I was taking it very, very well and that I should just keep doing what I'm doing to cope. I'll be over the worst of it by Wednesday, when all of the chemicals will have flushed out from my system, and then I'll spend the rest of the week recovering from it. By next Monday I should be as good as new, but it sucks having to wait that long. On the other hand, it's like being able to schedule having the flu. Quite odd.

In the meanwhile, I'm going to list off some interesting, and perhaps amusing, facts that I've garnered over the past few weeks.

• If you ever have to go to an oncologist's office, where they actually treat people with chemo, and you have to go to the bathroom, realize that when you flushed the toilet, you didn't break it simply because it ran for a very long period of time. They have to have toilets that flush loads of water simply because of all the chemicals people expel---otherwise the bowls would be eaten up.
• Every time I have a treatment, I am consistently the youngest person in the room. I sometimes have trouble with the way people look at me, because the majority of people are elderly, and they shake their heads in dismay at me. The general consensus, I've learned, is that I'm too young to be there and they feel sorry for me.

  The only consolation I can take from this is that because they're elderly, they avoid the swank recliners that my friend JoAnn and I snag each time, because they can't get out of them. We're younger and we can, however. So, we get the really sweet, plush and comfortable recliners in which we receive our treatments, while the elders stick to the recliners they can maneuver out of with ease. Honestly, our recliners are better than Laz-e-Boys because they have trays on each side on which you can keep within easy reach all the crap you've brought with you to keep yourself busy for the five hours you'll be there.

  If they weren't coated in vinyl, they'd be even better.

• Don't ever sit around and wait for an oncology nurse to call you back. Go on with your day and let it hit voice mail if you have to. Otherwise you could be spending all of what would be a normal, and potentially wonderful, day waiting for them to call.

  In a relatively funny aside, I had a question for the nurse this morning, so I called and left a message and was told that so-and-so would be calling me back because Dr. Academic's designated nurse is on vacation this week. The first words out of his mouth were, "Wow, working for Dr. Academic is a life-altering experience." Honestly, I'm glad for you, buddy, but I was more concerned about the amount of claritin I was taking to deal with the bone pain. Can we try and stay on point here, eh?

• Dr. Academic is turning out to be something of a fascination to me. He's an interesting guy and I find the whole process of how I came to be in his care, as one of the top gynecologic oncologists in the country, interesting. Pure luck of the draw. He is, undoubtedly, something of a hotshot. If you google him, well, loads of very important stuff comes up. Lots of publications. Lots of press releases---that sort of thing. He's a pretty accomplished guy. He's constantly on the lists the local magazines put out that say he's the guy you want if you need this particular kind of doctor. In an odd coincidence, one of my former employees from the Bou now works at his office, albeit for another oncologist, and she's a breast cancer survivor. She told me offhand one day that I couldn't have a better doctor, because hers defers to him. Hers is at Mayo.

  And treated King Hussein of Jordan when he was fighting his cancer.

  Take from that what you will.

  Also, according to the hippie RN neighbor, who knows of him from her hospital, when he was single, Dr. Academic apparently "got around," too.

  Heh. I totally believe it, too.

• I think all the Benadryl they push into me to prevent an allergic reaction while I'm receiving my treatments is actually helping me beat the husband at travel scrabble. Don't ask me why, but because the drugs make me woozy, I don't think I'm concentrating enough and I seem to do better that way. Go figure. Alas, he'll have his advantage back by next time, because they're cutting the amount they give me by half at that point.
• I had "genetic counseling" this past week.

  The trouble with all this ovarian cancer stuff is my age. It's rare for someone my age to have ovarian cancer. It's generally reserved for women over the age of fifty. So, the doctors have generally puzzled about how I might have gotten it and they haven't a clue. They seem to think that I might be positive for a genetic mutation of the BRCA 1 or BRCA2 chromosomes. According to Wikipedia:

  {...}These mutations can be changes in one or a small number of DNA base pairs (the building blocks of DNA). In some cases, large segments of DNA are rearranged. A mutated BRCA1 gene usually makes a protein that does not function properly because it is abnormally short. Researchers believe that the defective BRCA1 protein is unable to help fix mutations that occur in other genes. These defects accumulate and may allow cells to grow and divide uncontrollably to form a tumor.{...}

  So, I had to undergo genetic counseling, which is where a nurse sits you down, takes your family history, explains all of this to you, sets you up for a blood draw and then takes a big sample of blood to ship off to a DNA testing facility that is solely dedicated to testing people for this genetic mutation. If it turns out I'm positive for it, well, that's where the ovarian cancer came from, and that answers that question---because, as of right now, they have NO idea how I got it. Also, this means because there is a breast-ovarian cancer link, I will have a fifty-fifty shot of having breast cancer by the time I'm fifty.

  Good times, no?

  It gets better. If it turns out that I'm positive, well, then all my siblings have to get tested for it, because there's a fifteen percent chance that my sisters will contract ovarian cancer simply because I've had it and all my brothers have to get tested, too, because there's an increased risk of prostate cancer for them, as well as male breast cancer.

  Are you finally getting the idea of the numbers game we're playing here? Nothing's for sure, but there's an increased risk of this that or the other every time you turn around. And they always have a percentage attached to it. Not like it matters, though, because you get the feeling that if there's any chance of more cancer, no matter how unlikely in reality, they'll jump RIGHT on it.

  The nurse, after hearing what little I knew of my family history, didn't think I'd come back positive for it. We're not Ashkenazi Jews---at least not in the past two generations, we're not, beyond that I have no idea--and that's the group in the general population in which it's most common. She lumped me in the 9% risk group. Dr. Academic, however, laughed when I told him this and then snorted. He seems to think I'll come back positive for it.

  Don't quite know what to think about all of this. For me, right now, it simply means increased surveillance, which is a good thing. Every six months I'll switch off between mammograms and MRI's to see if anything's developed and with the increased screening, if anything arises, they'll be able to catch it quickly. For my siblings, however, I don't know that they'll be too pleased with me. It's one thing for your baby sister to get cancer; it's another thing entirely to find out you might be in a risky group as a result, and that she's the one who tipped you off.

  I hate being the messenger.

• Mr. H was in San Francisco last week. He generally does a lot of shopping when he's out there and he decided to visit one of my favorite stores when he was there. In case you were wondering, well, it's Louis Vuitton on Union Square. They have a huge flagship there and it's just a lot of fun to look at the windows, loaded with every leather good they have available on display. He told me in an email that he'd goggled there for a while, but I didn't think anything of it until yesterday, when we met up for our usual cup of coffee and he got out of the car with a big brown bag attached to his arm. After declaring he wanted to see my big, bad, bald self, I obliged him and then he handed me the bag.

  He bought me a scarf at Louis Vuitton. An honest to God Louis Vuitton scarf is wrapped around my head right now and even though I'm not feeling very glam, it helps having designer head gear on. I know I'm not a slob now, despite the fact I'm wearing an old tee shirt and a pair of shorts. I have at least one piece of designer gear on---and that makes me, ahem, eclectic.

  Heh.

  And it's even the perfect consistency of cotton. Not too thick, it's on the light side of things, it's breathable, with a bit of elastcity in the cotton. It wraps around my head perfectly and it doesn't slip. Fab-u! Love it, love it, love it.

  Anyone else who would like to contribute to the cause of keeping Kathy's head covered, can email me and I'll direct you to the other ones I'd like to have.

  Heh. Like that's going to happen.

  A girl can dream, though, can't she?

• And speaking of headgear, I needed a big straw hat to keep my skin covered while I'm going through the chemo. It makes you very sensitive to the sun, and so while you run around with 45 SPF on, a hat is necessary, too, because if you get sunburned while you're on chemo, it'll take you about four days to heal up from it, because your compromised immune system can't handle it. That's what happened to me, anyways, so the husband went out and bought me a big, floppy, light straw cowboy hat, with shells and assorted beads threaded onto leather strings acting as a hatband. It's very pretty and I get lots of compliments on it.

  The only problem with the hat is that I have to wear a scarf underneath it to keep from looking like I'm a little kid who's put on their Dad's hat. With the scarf, I can keep it in place, but it's floppy. It's not made out of the same stuff of which they make Stetsons, so it has a tendency to flip flop around in the wind. I don't really care about that, it's just that, well, with my bald head and the set of glasses I wear, well---sigh---when I wear the hat, I bear a slight resemblance to Kenny Chesney. The fact that he also wears bandanas to cover up his bald head, under his hat, doesn't help matters any, either.

  Sigh.

Ok, that should be enough for now. Go on and enjoy your day. I'm going to go nap after I switch out loads of laundry.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:14 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 2729 words, total size 15 kb.

1 Thinking of you. . . {{{ hugs }}} Love, M

Posted by: Margi at May 15, 2007 10:16 AM (E6wcJ)

2 The Claritin thing is a hot tip! I'm going to talk to my resident alchemists and see if they've ever heard of it! And, hey, I don't know how many treatments you've got to go, or if you'd think it worthwhile, but you might want to think about a Portacath if your IV's keep blowing -- my first treatment blew out 3 veins in my hand, thankfully before they started the Adrimycin. I worked one day til noon, went down to surgery and had it put in with very light anesthesia and was back at work the following morning. Worked like a charm, no more hand sticks, and I was even a bridesmaid in a lowcut dress while wearing it. =] Was really a Godsend! Highly recommend it.

Posted by: Marianne at May 19, 2007 03:54 AM (1b3wj)

3 Thinking of you, sweetie [HUGS]

Posted by: Ith at May 21, 2007 01:21 PM (T2ixI)

4 Hi! A friend on my Livejournal list, Ithirial, told me about your blog and sent me over. It feels so good to read about another person's experience with this disease. I'm fighting breast cancer, and the chemo is driving me nuts. Makes me so sick. Ugh. I, too, am usually the youngest person in the chemo room (at 29), and I get the same headshakes. But that's okay. I hope you don't mind me peeking in. It just feels better to see someone else going through this, too.

Posted by: Dragonsinger at May 29, 2007 06:50 AM (jI8YL)

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