all I ever wanted…Vacation…all I ever needed…Vacation…have to get away…Vacation….
all I ever wanted…Vacation…all I ever needed…Vacation….(something or other). Go-Gos anyone?
That’s right! I am in the countdown to vacation. Chris and I leave Saturday morning to fly to Kansas City (yes, I know the photo is Chicago…hang on…). My brother picks us up for the drive to none other than Springfield, MO (I may or may not be related to the Simpsons). We’ll spend a few days there visiting with the likes of these folks to the right (brother Jay, sis-in-law Jen, niece McKinzee and nephew Lucas).

We’ll see just who’s hair is longer–Jay’s, Lucas’s or mine! We’ll also see my mom and step-dad, and even spend a day in Branson with everyone. Sadly, Yakov Smirnoff takes August off, so Chris’s dream of catching a Yakov Smirnoff performance has been crushed.

After Missouri, Chris and I are driving up to Chicago, where I will be at a conference for a few days and Chris will be doing two Forgotten Grapes wine tastings. (If you are in the Chicago area…and some of you are…stop by the tasting event. Details available by clicking here: Forgotten Grapes Chicago!) Then we’ve even got a few days to play in Chicago. Art Institute, Frank Lloyd Wright house, there may be a wine bar or two…and hey, I hear there is good food there!

Why is this news? It isn’t really. But note it had absolutely nothing to do with cancer. Nothing! Why? Because I don’t have cancer anymore!! I’m just going on a normal vacation with a mix of family visit, work and sightseeing, like a totally normal person. I could get the hang of this.

Speaking of normal, I even watched the real live actual news today for the first time in a long time–probably since January. I’ve avoided television, books and movies that would be depressing or in any way sad (and believe me that’s eliminating a lot) during this little precarious odyssey of mine. But I sort of missed knowing what’s going on in the world. So who’s this beer drinking Barack guy? Seems kinda cool. I’m thinking he could be big. Anything I should know?

This was a long-winded way (who me??) of saying, I may not be blogging for the next week. I’ve got to finish up much at work, pack, and…well, vacation…for a little while now. I think I may just take a cue from television and post a few re-runs. We can all remember what it was like back in the days UCLA was my home, wig-teens were my guide, and palm trees scared the bejeezus out of me.

I will however continue to collect the bizarre things people say to a nearly bald woman and dutifully report back. In bidding you adieu for now, I will leave you with today’s gem from the “tact of a drunken bear” collection”:

Me: “Yes, the doctors said all clear. No signs of the cancer.”
DB: “That’s great. But you and I both know the doctors miss a lot of stuff. Let’s just hope they’re right this time.”

See why I need a vacation??
Cheers! A Bientot!

PS. Yes, I know it will be hot and humid. It’s not like it’s going to ruin my ‘do.

I missed a few days of blogging. Did you notice? Nothing serious, I just got a new laptop and my “computer guy” was transferring files from the old to the new laptop so I can take the new one with me when Chris and I leave Saturday for the wild wild mid-west. That meant no computer access at home for a bit.

So now I’ve got two days of reactions to my going topless in public to share with you. (Yes, I mean “without headcovering” but I’m hoping for extra blog hits by weirdos online searching “topless.” Not true at all.). You can see in the photo what my public self looks like now. I have hair, but I don’t really think it looks like an intentional hairstyle yet. To me it still says “chemo happened here.” Apparently that’s not true to the public in general. I’ve had the following responses from folks who didn’t know that chemo did indeed happen here but all of whom knew me “before”:

1) (startled look) “Oh, I see you have your summer haircut.” Because apparently I’m like a Lhasa Apso in that regard.

2) (brief look of surprise) “Oh, I really like your haircut.” And, after I explained that it wasn’t a “cut” so much as a growth she said “I would never have known. I think it looks great on you.” (So you might guess this was my favorite response.) And then there was

3) (shocked look of tragic proportions) “Oh, you cut off all your beautiful blonde hair!!!”
Hey, thanks for the reminder!! [Help me out here. Would "Oh! You wrinkled all that beautiful young skin you had!" have been an appropriate response?] And then, after I explained that no, I did not “cut” the hair (and I believe I may be guilty of emphasizing that it fell out by the handful because of the CHEMO POISON I was underwent due to CANCER ), this person said, “Oh, right. I think I remember someone told me you had cancer. I just remember that you had such beautiful blonde hair, so this was shocking.” Yeah, well, cancer can be like that. Oh, and I truly appreciate the empathy. Cow.

What have we learned here my precious readers? I’m thinking that a woman with a sudden alarming and really, really short haircut should be approached in the same manner as a woman who has suddenly gained a little weight. (In that “you shouldn’t assume pregnant because she might just have gained weight” way). Maybe we did and maybe we didn’t do this to ourselves.

What else have we learned? That some people have the tact of a drunken bear. I mean, what if I had in fact simply chosen to cut off all my hair? Where was #3 going to go from there?

Nonetheless, I’m getting rather used to the look. It’s not my favorite and I won’t be keeping it, but I find that if I just dress like a girl and throw on some jewelry (but not hoop earrings which still make me look like a pirate), and particularly “artsy” looking jewelry, I can almost fool myself that this is a “style.”

You know, like a summer cut on a lhasa apso.

In keeping with my status as not a cancer patient, I have foregone wigs, scarves and hats. That decision has been aided greatly by the 100+ degree heat. So yeah, I’m pretty much running around topless….er, no, um, headless……no,…um… bald, no, well, there is some hair, so, well….headcovering-less. Me. I’ve decided to just run around as me. Me, currently. And mostly I forget that I look any different at all. Lucky me, I don’t see myself most of the day. I get to just experience getting ready in 20 minutes flat, not having any hair flying into my face, eyes or nostrils all day and being a lot cooler in general. And I mean that temperature-wise.

The reaction has been mostly good; but then I’m mostly around people who know this was not a hairstyle choice. I did have an encounter with a staring child in a public restroom who seemed a bit appalled at my hair, but it resulted in a sort of “well you can’t have it both ways” moment with myself.

I’ve mentioned before I’m not much of a kid person. But, despite my lack of innate ability, little girls used to like me. I think it’s because for the most part many years ago I, oddly, used to look like what girls seem to think girls are supposed to look like (i.e. I was tall, blonde and what passed for thin before anorexic became the new thin). That and I didn’t and still don’t talk to children in a child’s voice. I don’t have a child’s voice. I have a whiskey and cigarettes voice, so even if I tried to raise it to mimic a child’s voice I’d get to “normal adult female voice” at best. Despite all these impediments, little girls used to like me. I can vividly recall being in church one Christmas, festively dressed in bright red, when I was about 34 or 35 years old and still celebrated Christmas. And went to church. (I am Catholic enough that I hedge my bets against that whole burning in hell thing by at least showing up for the annual lapsed Catholic holiday ritual. Plus, at the time I was married to a man who thought he was going to burn in hell merely because he had married the likes of me.) The little girl in the pew in front of me kept turning around and staring, and then smiling, and eventually waving. And I mean through the entire mass (which, for the information of you non-Catholics, is 238 hours and 14 minutes). Her mother noticed this about halfway through and tried to correct the behavior by turning first the child’s face, then her entire body away from me. The mother finally asked the inevitable “what are you staring at?” question. The little girl whispered into her mother’s ear. The mother turned back and looked at me and spent the rest of the mass visibly shaking in her effort to not burst out laughing.

I was having no trouble not laughing and I think I may have started to glare at the little girl as a stand-in for her mother, who was decidedly not turning around again. When mass ended the mother did turn to me, barely containing her laughter, and said, “I’m really sorry. I should explain. My daughter thinks you’re Barbie.”

Barbie.

Christmas Barbie.

Not even Lawyer Barbie. Freakin’ Christmas Barbie. Visions of child abuse danced in my head. But this little girl was just glowing smiling at me. I managed to deduce that from a child’s point of view this was probably a huge compliment and not an attack on my I.Q. So I mumbled something like “Oh, thanks. That’s, uh, cute.” And I went home, pulled my hair back into a tight school marm bun and burned my red dress.

Flash forward to this week and I’m standing at a sink in the restroom in my building at work, washing my hands, when I notice the little girl at the sink next to me has stopped mid hand wash, to stare in slack-jawed horror at my head. Maybe she thought a man had come into the restroom. And if that was the case a “Hi little girl” from my whiskey-cigarette voice was not going to help. So I just smiled at her.

Nothing. I got nothing. She just stood there, oblivious to the open faucet creating another several months of water shortage, looking at my head. I smiled again, this time trying to convey “you’re being rude, future Heather” and contemplating whether I should or should not mention “cancer.” Just then her mother appeared. I smiled at the mother and left before I could see if mother had the squinty “oh you have cancer look.”

Okay, so I wasn’t crazy about the Barbie thing. But I don’t really want to be scaring little girls in public restrooms either. (Alright, maybe I do just a little bit.) I’m hoping for a happy medium sometime soon.

So tonight when we went out to the Street Food Omakase event I opted for the “I just came back from consulting my guru in Sedona where I planned my next trip to the Costa Rican rain forest on paper I made by hand while sipping green tea in the lotus position (for 16 hours)” look.
Roryann’s sister, ERIN GUNNETTE , who in the past several months recognized me as a blonde “old Britney”, a red-head and even a brunette, failed to recognize me at all. Hey, at least she didn’t call me “Sir.”

P.S. (That’s me on the left, in case you are confused. And that’s my friend NANCY CARPENTER. We manage to get together about every 15 years. And that started in 3rd grade. Let me assure you however, we did not play with Barbies.)

December 23, 2008: Doctor says “Highly Suspicious of Malignancy.”

July 23, 2009: Doctors say “No signs of the Cancer” and “You are returned to the River of Life.”

A seven month detour, that’s all this breast cancer thing was. 7 months exactly, start to finish. There’s the celebration with my boys–my two heroes from start to finish: Dr. Amer Karam and Chris Kern. (We’re thinking Dr. Karam is growing out his hair for cancer too! It’s a little strange to be the only girl at the table and yet the one with the shortest hair…by far.)

Yep, yesterday, July 23rd, was the final check-up visit at UCLA. I was able to schedule it so that Chris and I could leave in the morning, head to Mission Wine shop in Pasadena for some wine he needed for Forgotten Grapes, grab a quick lunch, get a mammogram at 1pm, see the radiologist immediately after that (no, seriously, immediately after the mammogram before I even changed back into my clothes, the radiologist was giving me the “no signs of cancer” report!!), see Dr. Glaspy (the oncologist) at 2pm, and then Dr. Karam at 3pm. We were at the Wine House (buying more wine for Forgotten Grapes…and um, me….and some fantastic cheeses!) by 4:30 and Bar Pinxto in Santa Monica by 5:30. An astounding feat in Los Angeles and with medical appointments in general. UCLA continues to impress.

The highlights–

The Mammogram: I’ve never quite had such a cattle call for a mammogram. They took five of us back at once. Which was great except there was only 3 changing rooms. We took turns, and when I came out I noticed I was the only one who had put my gown on open to the back. I was in the back of the group and had not heard the instructions that these gowns open to the front (and yes, that makes total sense for a mammogram–but wouldn’t it make sense for the radiation too? And yet…open to the back). One of the ladies explained my mistake to me and I said “I had to wear hospital gowns everyday for 33 days. I guess old habits die hard.” Then I went back in the dressing room and flipped my gown around. When I came back out everyone had that squinty “oh, I’m so sorry you have CANCER” look on their faces. And somebody got up to give me her chair. I laughed. I also explained that I had cancer but today was just a check-up to confirm that it’s allllllllll gone.

I have to admit, I was a little nervous about whether the mammogram would hurt–the girls, particularly the right one, have been through a lot! I was concerned that squishing her in those plates would be particularly painful. It wasn’t. Phew. When I was finished with the exam they had me sit in a separate waiting area to talk to the radiologist (right away. Did I mention that? Right. Away.) There was another woman waiting and we got to talking. She asked about my treatment and I explained “Lumpectomy, chemo, radiation, today is a check-up, but I’m sure I’m all good.” She asked a few questions. Among them a very timid “were you just sick the whole time?” I said what I always say (and mean) “I was never nauseous and all in all it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Not even the hair loss, although I’m ready for it to return.” She said she thought I looked great. She was also very kind when I came back out after talking to the radiologist and did a little clap when I told her it was all good.

Hours later, after Chris and I had been to Dr. Glaspy and Dr. Karam, we went downstairs to the Revlon Breast Cancer Center (I wanted to see if they have a resource center so I could steal ideas for the one we’re working on!). I ran into the same woman again, sitting waiting for an appointment. This is 2 hours after her mammogram. I’m pretty sure she was there because her mammogram was abnormal. For once, I was happy about the things that came out of my mouth. I hope my response to having been through the whole experience was somewhat comforting to her.

Oncology: We saw Dr. Glaspy and I returned to his care “officially.” Goodbye bitchy Rancho Cucamonga doctor with way too many patients and not nearly enough patience. Dr. Glaspy, you may recall, was the first oncologist I saw and recommended highly by Dr. Karam. He was the “river boat gambler” (the link will take you back to the post if you’d like a refresher) analogy guy and also the first one to tell me “100% guaranteed loss of hair.” And not remarkably friendly. But this time? This time he was super friendly, super kind and full of super good news–which was basically that there were no signs of the cancer, I’d successfully completed all the treatment there was for me (since my former now-dismissed cancer was triple negative there are no medicines or hormones that they can also throw at it “just in case”) and he doesn’t recommend doing any additional scans because they can do more harm than good. He is the one who said “you are returned to the River of Life.” No restrictions. He also said I am highly unlikely to die of breast cancer. It’s pretty likely I’ll die, but not of breast cancer. And that was pretty cool to hear. He even asked me about my law practice and how things were in general, so I’m thinking he looked at my chart! (You don’t think I’m bitter about the Rancho Cucamonga oncologist do you?).

The Surgeon: Saving the best for last, we saw Dr. Karam at 3pm (and yes, Chris goes to all of the appointments with me and sits through all of the exams; that’s why he’s my hero). My scar is healing nicely, and those little “cigarette burn” looking things from the radiation stickers are almost gone as well. Dr. Karam did notice a little radiation burn that I hadn’t really noticed before, but it’s not painful. And that was it.

Voila. I am no longer a cancer patient!! My follow-up is just that I get a check-up with Dr. Glaspy every 3 months for a year, then every 6 months for another two years afer that, and then once a year until I hit that magic 5 year mark. My type of (former) cancer has a much higher rate of recurrence in the first 3 years, so that’s why the schedule is what it is. I also get mammograms every 6 months for a few years (probably 3). That sounds highly do-able to me. Oh, and, I’m already 6 months into my five years. They start counting from the time there is no cancer detected in the patient’s body. For me, that was actually after the surgery on January 28th. (Yeah, that chemo and radiation stuff were just precautionary.) 6 months down, 54 to go!

Dr. Karam I will be seeing more of. But that’s because he’s agreed to help with our Inland Agency Breast Cancer Resource Center!! And yes, he does know how far the drive is (he’s done it twice so far). He’s just that nice of a guy.

So much to celebrate! You’ll excuse me while I go continue the celebration, right? (I did mention we bought some fabulous cheese and wine….)

This post is not about the Survivor party, but I’ll throw in a few random party people photos just to keep your attention. That’s me with my pink-shirt BFF STACEY ALDSTADT (who made 14 tons of ice cream–including my all time favorite peach!!–for the party). I do have enough hair now that I run around without any head covering of any sort, but as I mentioned it was 106 degrees out so a hat was in order. And if you’re going to wear a hat, you may as well wear a HAT!

Thanks for the voting on when the blog should die a natural death. Seems most of you said “when there is nothing left to say about cancer.” Which is very nice of you. Then it occurred to me, finally, you aren’t exactly a captive audience anyway (and probably some of you didn’t vote on when it should end because I didn’t give the “three weeks ago” option). You can stop reading whenever you like and I could keep blogging even if I was only talking to myself. So perhaps there isn’t such a thing as a natural death of a blog. Or there is but it might be a different time for you than it is for me. Or something crazy and meta like that. But here’s the thing–I’m not quite ready to stop. I’ve still got check-ups and all that sort of ongoing business and while I ramble through these postings, it sometimes actually helps me process all that goes on. So there. (photo on the right is me, Teresa 2 –also a breast cancer survivor!, BARB ABEL, and of course, the good and great and tattooed DR. AMER KARAM; still paying attention?)

But then today, a really valid reason to keep going presented itself! I met with the lovely ladies from Inland Agency’s Women’s Health Initiative (BECKY FOREMAN, JODEE PALMER and ROSA OLAIZ). Besides being able to give them $330 from the Survivor t-shirt sales at the party, I was able to learn about their plans for the much-needed, long-awaited Breast Cancer Resource Center in Riverside and San Bernardino Counties. They have a physical location and hope to soon run a center that provides information, support, books, publications, wigs, scarves, prosthesis, lymphedema sleeves, education and outreach and basically allllllllllllll the stuff a woman may need when first diagnosed with breast cancer and throughout treatment. Fantastic!! I can’t over emphasize how much this is needed here. I marvel at what UCLA has in this regard, but I also realize not everyone can drive to UCLA. There’s a great resource center called Michelle’s Place in Temecula (about 30 miles south of here) that does great work, but we need another center in our vast two county area.

(photo is Jayden Pierce rockin’ the pirate look in a feeble attempt to hide the fact that I’m kickin’ his Pampered butt in the hair growing contest!!)

So, I’m going to help (of course I am!). And you are too (of course you are!!). I offered to help put together an advisory committee to focus on exactly what a breast cancer patient needs throughout treatment and beyond (you know, besides a blog!) and then of course where we can get those things. I’ll be calling on my local friends who’ve “been there done that” either themselves or in support of a loved one. [But hey, you know who you are, save me a call and just email me that you'd love to be involved (not a lifetime commitment here; just a few meetings and I promise good wine)].

For those of you who aren’t local or can’t be involved at the committee level, email me or leave a comment with your thoughts on what would make for a great resource center. What did you want to know? What things did you need? What resource did you find that was particularly helpful to you? What works? What doesn’t work? Speak up! I want to hear from you. I’ll give you an example–I had a heck of a time organizing all the paperwork and keeping track of everything I needed to know, test results, phone numbers, doctors information, prescriptions, and all that crap. About halfway through treatment my new friend and fellow survivor URSULA VUCCI-GIGLIA sent me a fantastic Breast Cancer 101 “Basics for the Diagnosed” organizer! Super useful. And it would have been even more useful had I known about it from the beginning (she sent it in response to my complaints on the blog!). Little things like that make a difference. So give me your ideas and experiences and help make this resource center happen (a lot of women will thank you later; I’ll thank you now!).
(photo is COURTNEY KERN, SUSAN SANTOS, and KATI KERN–Chris’s sisters and aunt; in the background is RINA GONZALES…but I don’t know the boys she’s with; I’m guessing they were there celebrating Michelle’s birthday!)

I’ll likely have much to blog about in this new endeavor. I’m also the honorary chair of the 2010 Shop to Stop Breast Cancer which raises funds for the Resource Center and breast health programs (including mammograms for the uninsured and underinsured). We’ll have so much to chat about.

The Dog Lived. I lived. The Blog Lives!!!

P.S.
(photo is KRIS DEGREZIA and NANCY MCELHANNON)(Hot folks having a hot time!)

We survived the Survivor party. You haven’t seen postings in a bit because a) um, there was a party going on and it needed my full attention, b) I posted the Quinn Cummings interview and folks seemed quite interested in reading that so I left that as the “lead story” for a couple o’ days, and c) I had house guests and limited energy!

But here, in no particular order, are some of the Survivor party highlights:

1) it was 106 degrees and people were melting. I was astounded at the number of people who showed up nonetheless, and many even came out from the air conditioned house to enjoy Michelle’s spectacular yard. In the first photo is STACEY ALDSTADT, LAUREEN PITTMAN and RORYANN CLEMENTS, aka part of the world’s greatest party planning committee. They had been working for 2 days straight by the time this photo was taken. (Oh, and Rory refused to be considered “staff” so she didn’t wear her “Survivor” t-shirt; she’s all management, all the time).

2) The travelers (photo #2) were author LORI LACEFIELD (Denver, Co; buy her book The Seventh Survivor!!), MICHAEL WAKEFIELD (Portland, OR), and JANE GIDEON (who drove down from foggy, cool San Francisco and withered in the heat but never stopped smiling)

3)We managed to avoid it for 5 years, 1 month, 1 week and a few hours…but eventually, Chris’s parents met my parents (or a sub-set of “parents” anyway–my father and his beautiful wife Nancy). There are no photos of this monumental occasion as Chris and I both stood rooted to the ground unable to move in fear that there would soon be a breach in the time/space continuum. There wasn’t.

4) Many friends from my many years on this planet showed up and melted with me. Photo 4 is from left to right, my dad JIM MCELHANNON (please don’t mention that his shirt is hot pink; I gave him the shirt for Father’s Day and told him to wear it to the party. He’s color blind. He may think he was in a very sophisticated navy blue.) TOM DEGREZIA (dine at Pizzaioli and buy all your wine from Napacabs.com because they’re good people and it’s good food and wine!!), RICH GOLD and GARY BERG (Gary has been my friend for longer than BRIEN CLEMENTS–the awesome chef of Omakase–has been alive; but we tried not to discuss that fact!)

5) Beautiful young girls who I’ve known since they were born showed up and smiled when all of us old people gasped at how much they’d grown (that’s MIMI DEGREZIA and LOREN DEGREZIA–my goddaughter, god help her!)

6) Not to be outdone by the group that broke through the Orange County curtain to appear in Riverside, there was an L.A. contingent making a strong showing. In the left photo: DAVE and JUDY DEL BOURGO (buy his book Prague Spring now!!), the good and great DR. AMER KARAM (yes, he is old enough to be a surgeon and apparently pretty outrageously tattooed; I’m still wondering how all the ladies at the party knew this!); and EILEEN AUSTEN (a fellow breast cancer survivor!). The photo to the right-ish is ASHLEY SMITH (who ran the LA marathon recently. Seriously!!) and COURTNEY KERN (Chris’s sister, who nicely covers the Orange/ LA divide by being raised in the OC but living in LA currently).

7) And then there were my nieces, ELISHA on the left and NATASHA on the right, who were perfectly willing to accept pink cupcakes (with, ahem, Good ‘n’ Plenty centers that made them look suspiciously like boobies…in the cold. Thanks, RORYANN CLEMENTS!!), but did wonder where the pinata was, thus making us realize we had overlooked one awesome Survivor party opportunity: The Boobie Pinata. But, really, haven’t the girls been through enough?

(Special programming note:there was indeed a significant Riverside contingent; and yes, JACK CLARKE appeared and closed the party down again. Those photos will have to come later as others were acting as photographer and I am anxiously awaiting the results. As is Jack, I’m sure. Let’s just say the “hair-off” was a close call, but there was a clear cut cleavage winner. Enough said.)

I realize that my cancer is officially over, what with the last day of radiation and the whole (gigantic!!) Survivor party happening tomorrow, but indulge me one more time. This is perhaps slightly off-topic, but we all deserve a break from cancer, no? For those of you who are sticklers for themes, I offer you this: I can now return to wearing underwire bras (which were banned during radiation treatment). Quinn Cummings book is out and it’s titled “Notes from the Underwire: Adventures from my Awkward and Lovely Life.” If that’s not enough for you theme-obssessed, in the book she has written about a time when she was 14 years old and her mother was undergoing chemotherapy. She goes wig shopping with her mother. There is no Wig Teen in her story, but the results were quite similar to my Hairy Scary Day.

I’ve just started reading the book and it’s hilarious and well-written and supremely entertaining and interesting. Go, buy it. From your local independent bookstore if you are lucky enough to have one (Vroman’s sells it online and they have autographed copies–which is what I got; yeah, call me a geek. Whatever). (And I got this far without saying it, but yes, that Quinn Cummings–the little girl from Goodbye Girl, all grown-up and intellectual and have I mentioned funny?). Unfortunately I missed her one public appearance and reading at Vroman’s in Pasadena. Luckily for us all however, she is doing a “blog book tour” which is exactly what it sounds like and really pretty smart. Here, read for yourself (questions are mine; answers are hers….really).

1) Now that you’ve had a live reading book “tour” and your blog tour is well underway, which group of fans do you find to be better dressed?

Oh, the little people who live in my head. They might shout at me and disparage my grammar, but sartorially, they’re flawless.

2) In your book, you discuss dealing with your mother’s cancer. Because this is a blog about dealing with breast cancer, I feel compelled to ask a cancer related question. So here goes–what advice would you give to family and friends of someone diagnosed with cancer (or any serious illness for that matter)? (I’m avoiding asking for advice to the person diagnosed–we get so much advice our heads spin and spit).

I think there’s no one answer. You offer the adult one kind of support when their partner is living with and fighting ovarian cancer. You offer the eleven year-old son of the melanoma patient another kind of support entirely. Truthfully, I’m not sure what I would have welcomed at fourteen. I was a prickly kid and I have a cellular horror of anything resembling pity. We’re going to be FINE, get off my BACK, just give me a butter knife and I’ll take the tumor out MYSELF. I can say this without feeling too pompous; you are the person giving support don’t get to decide what form that’s going to take. You might feel like having a good long cry with the family member. They might feel like talking about anything but the cancer. The family of a person fighting cancer gets one thing over which they have control and that’s how they’re going to deal or not deal with it.

3) How do you feel about questions (brilliant, ridiculous, incoherent or otherwise) with a lot of parentheticals (which may or may not be an attempt to avoid commas)?

Since a usual sentence for me would, if written, contain more subclauses than an insurance rider, I’m awed and fearful of people who don’t need my precious parentheses. I’ve actually learned to talk in parentheses.

4) Would you like to take this opportunity to clear up your prior statement that some unknown breed of dog called a Boykin something or other is your favorite breed of dog when actually you meant that “Beagle” (particularly diabolically cute beagles named Seamus that have survived cancer against all odds) is your favorite breed of dog, right after any dog that was rescued from a shelter and given a second chance?

And then there are Beagles and they are very good and brave and only bay when it’s totally necessary. To prove my love for the fair beagle, I will now offer a beagle story; the woman who runs the rescue group where I work has a beagle who comes to work. There he sits most days, overrun by cats; the elders ignore him, the teenagers try to pick fights with him and the kittens use him as a climbing toy. Throughout, his tail never stops thumping (Although it must be noted that he does enjoy sneaking a little kitty food when he can and has been known to sneak a cat-box treat if no appears to be looking). In short, he is the embodiment of the beagle’s good humor, adaptability and style.

5) What are you currently working on writing-wise (besides blog interview questions)?

This is it for right now, because it’s taking about two hours a day and it’s summer time and my daughter is very present and I really ought to parent her.

6) What book do you wish you had written and what book are you glad you didn’t write?

I wish I had written “Don’t Get Too Comfortable,” by David Rackoff. I wish I had written “Play it as it Lays,” by Joan Didion. I wish I had written the “Pigs in Heaven” series by Barbara Kingsolver, because she wrote a boyfriend character for the lead I finished the book totally crushed on, and it would have been nice to keep him in my head for the years it took to write them. I won’t say which books I’m glad I didn’t write, because someone out there likes them.

7) Why was this your favorite blog tour stop to date and what could possibly top it?

Well, being able to clarify the terrible beagle misunderstanding brought a lot of peace to my soul.

See, that was worth the digression, wasn’t it? Also worth your time is her blog: QCReports.blogspot.com

(If you have a blog and would like to interview Quinn, you can also accomplish this amazing feat. You need only go to her blog to find out how. But you may not ask any dog questions that in anyway defeat the glory of the beagle.)

Seamus and I would both like to thank Quinn for stopping by the blog. And neighbors, he only bays for a reason. Got that??

It’s Friday night.

My friends’ Facebook status’s are all about the fantastic food they are preparing for Sunday’s Survivor party.

Chris is in the kitchen making BLT sandwiches.

My step-brother Michael flies in from Portland, OR tomorrow morning. My friend Lori arrives from Colorado later in the evening. Jane, Gary and Rich all arrive from the Bay area Sunday morning.

RSVPs to the party have topped 100 and friends are arriving from all over the place.

And this morning Seamus decided to dress himself (yes, he did this himself–by rolling around on top of a pile of laundry) in what shall hence forth be known as a “B*&#h Beater” tank top (Hey!! He’s a dog!!! It makes total sense).

I’m a Survivor. And life is good.

(Note: this is not for the squeamish–which, ironically, used to be me).

When I saw the doctor on Tuesday for my final exam, I was anxious to take the five “stickers” off my right breast. Cute as those butterflies were, my skin was itchy, and after wearing the stickers for 8 days, well…I just wanted them gone. I wanted all signs of this experience gone (the pretty and perfect surgical scar I can live with, like a badge of courage). So I started to peel off the sticker right there in the doctor’s office. And she winced and stopped me. Yeah, the doctor winced. She explained that because the skin had been radiated (read: burned) when I peel the sticker, it may peel the top layer of skin. My thinking was if my breast was going to be bleeding, I wanted a doctor in the room, so I returned to my peeling ways. But she was really wincing and said “No! It’s better if you just let them fall off. Get it wet, use lotion, whatever. But just wait.” I joked with her saying that apparently she chose radiology because she can’t handle the sight of blood. Now I’m thinking she was thinking that I chose law because I can’t understand the most basic medical fact (like, say, the texture and weakness of burned skin).

Being perhaps a bit stubborn and way too anxious to be done with this all, I took off 4 of the 5 stickers that night. But the fifth one, the one in the most delicate location, well…it didn’t want to give. So I waited. I got it wet. I used lotion (believe me, the whole area needs moisturizing), I got it wet again. Then last night I was able to peel it off.

Perhaps now is a good time to stop and explain these “stickers.” They look like kids stickers (the butterfly ones) or are just clear circular dots, not quite an inch wide I’d say. Their purpose was simply to cover the lines drawn on my body ( to line up the lasers) so they didn’t wash off. But they’re super strength surgical stickers–they stayed on my breast for 8 days without budging, even in the shower. Industrial strength. Okay, now, put one on a piece of, say, raw chicken with the skin on. Then barbecue the chicken. Now, gently, gently, peel off the sticker. Right. You got it. Skinless chicken….breasts!

Shockingly (no, that wasn’t already the shocking part) it didn’t actually hurt that much. I suppose it’s like a sunburn when your skin peels–it sounds way grosser than it feels. But this morning when I got out of the hot shower and saw my right breast in the mirror, well….it looks like it has 3 or 4 little cigarette burns around the scar! Perhaps I should have listened to the doctor.

But this also makes me smile a bit. It’s a pretty big sign that I’ve come a long way. See, as I’ve mentioned, I’m usually a pretty big wimp when it comes to medical things. Me BC would have left those stickers on until age deflated my breasts and the stickers just floated away or crumbled into dust. There’s no way I would have heard “skin peel” and gone anywhere near those stickers. In fact, I probably would have bought new extra padded bras just so nothing disturbed those stickers. Me Post-C? Hell now I’m standing around nearly bald, wearing just underwear, swirling a martini in my left hand and ripping off breast stickers with my right, shouting “what the hell does the doctor know anyway??”

I probably should work on correcting that pendulum swing a little bit, huh?

So maybe my return to normal is going to take a little while. This was the first morning I was able to sleep in a bit and not have to go to radiation before work. Naturally that meant I tossed and turned all night and was pretty much wide awake at 6:30 in the morning. Still, I managed to have two cups of coffee while getting lost and wasting a lot of time on the internet (lots of interesting and crazy blogs out there, don’t you think?).

I finally got moving, got showered, did my hair (I kid, I kid), and used the pretty new make-up that I bought yesterday on my little “spoil me” shopping spree. It looked great–and the eyelash primer and mascara made my lashes long enough to actually be seen. Nice. Until about 2 minutes later. When my eyes started burning. And squirting water. And burning. Did I mention burning? I had to wash my face and splash water into my eyes. Then after I dried my face, my eyes kept jetting water (or acid, I’m still not sure) so I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. Turns out one of my freshly manicured finger nails snagged and broke somewhere along the line. You know that delicate thin skin under your eyes? Yeah, turns out it’s easily snagged by a broken fingernail. And also very sensitive! I’m sure I looked worse today than I have probably throughout radiation. Particularly since my right eye continue to drain and smear the rest of my re-applied make-up (not the new stuff). Nice. I’m no longer Cancer Dork. I’m just Dork. (Note to Stila make-up: turns out “genuine crushed pearls” in eye shadow, while very pretty, is a really, really bad idea.)

On a brighter note though, Chris had a dream last night. He started to tell me about the dream but once he got to the part where I was in the dream, I had a dire need to know something extremely important (or so it seemed). In the dream, did I have blonde hair or was I bald? Or lesbian chic? The whole question fascinated me (Chris was less fascinated). I don’t remember any of my own dreams through this so I don’t yet know what I look like in dreams.

Apparently, in Chris’s dreams, I still have long blonde hair. I think that’s good. He doesn’t see me any differently now, not even sub-consciously. That’s got to be good right? I’m not Cancer Girl in his dreams! I’m not even Radiation girl! I wonder if I’m still a dork?