CANCER: Breaking up is hard to do....

Gentle readers, it is with a heavy heart that I write today's blog. That's right- change is afoot. My amazing, lovely, smart oncologist, Dr. Kasra Karamlou is leaving Swedish Issaquah to seek what, I do not know....off in California. This is our last week together.

I do believe that in my time of need, I've become almost gosling like in my amazing ability to imprint myself on my care givers. Often I find myself saying things like: "Well, that's not how Dr. K does it" or "We should check with nurse Debbie because I'm sure she knows what to do." I am unwilling to even fathom following another person's lead- since as far as I'm concerned, I have the best, smartest and really, let's be honest, best looking, cancer team a gal could ask for.

You know, when breakups occur, rarely do I get the chance to really say what's on my mind and in my heart. I mean, in this day and age, people break up via text message or read about it on Facebook in that: "Oh, my boyfriend has listed himself as single. Odd." No, no, I do not mean this about WCDO, Paul. He's still around. Still trying to figure that one out though....really. I mean, I DO have cancer and I'm bald.

So in homage to all things internet, electronic, and nanospeed- this is my send off to you, Dr. K.

Dear Dr. K.

As you prepare for your new life in California, I want you to know you have had a profound impact on my life. And I won't easily forget you. Sure, your life in CA will offer you lots of new patients and "experiences." I get that. We all move on. However I hope our time together was mutually beneficial.

While it's true- we never got mani/pedis together or even shopped for shoes, you did humor me. You chuckled at all of my rantings- (this truly is a smart man.) You were patient when I was losing my mind over my discomfort- both real and possibly imagined. You responded to my emails. And in a true act of trust and courage, you even gave me your personal mobile number with the reassuring words: "Feel free to call me anytime." That was awesome. You used emotocons when I backed you into really, really uncomfortable converstations. I kinda hated that.  But you know, it worked.

So thanks man. You went above and beyond the call of care giving. You did it splendidly. And, hopefully my tumors are shrinking that much faster because of it. Your patients in California will be lucky to get you. And I do hope that you end up with a decent roster of cancer patients. You know, the balance tipped towards the ones who will make it. Though I also know, if my prognosis was in the crapper, I would want to hear it from you.

You take care. Stay liberal. Godspeed!

ME

My new partner in cancer care is Dr. Patricia Wahl. Here's what I know so far: She's very, very well respected by every nurse, doctor and care provider I've spoken to. As a matter of fact, she's treated almost reverentially. One nurse whispered "Ohhhh, Dr. Wahl. She's sooooo smart....." I also know she shares my passion for all things bacon maple bar via Voodoo Donuts. And most importantly, she speaks Nordstrom.

Dr. K warned me that she won't give me her email address or phone number though. I told him: "oh, we'll see....." Because let's be honest, we all get excited by the prospect of a new relationship. Pulses quicken, heart rates increase, pupils dilate, dopamine gets a-flowing, palms sweat. All good stuff. Yes, we all enjoy the experience of falling into new relationships- even cancer patients.

CANCER: The Help

Saturday evening, Bastille day, my four week break from my common life in Seattle ended. It's back to the salt mines for me- solo parenting, cancer treatment, work and basically scotch taping my existence together. 

Much like the Sesame Street days of yore, I wish to dedicate this blog to the word "help."

Now the word itself is both a noun and a verb. Louis XVI really got the concept of the word as a noun- in that: "Don't talk that way in front of the HELP" kinda way. And while I hardly wield the power and decidedly opulent lifestyle of Louis, I do understand the need to rely on people regarded as "the help." 

In one of my dream career moments, I wanted (and still do, promise Carolyn Chow!) that I wish to return to school to pursue an ARNP degree. What can I say? I'm a people person....However several good friends try to discourage me from my pursuit. They state: "Sweetie, you'll never cut it as a nurse. The doctor's treat you like shit."  Now in my paradise known as Seattle, I'm accustomed to empowered nurses, informed receptionists and articulate volunteers. And I think- well who gets treated like that?

While at chemo camp in Ohio, I was exposed to a whole new reality of cancer treatment. It went kinda like this: "Hey, I'm the doctor. I'm in charge. And everyone in the building without the title of Doctor is to be regarded as either wall paper or the help." Oddly enough though, everyone outside of the Doctor circle seemed cool with those arrangements- except me. 

I was all, "what do you mean you gotta ask the doctor?"  "Just when exactly to you expect him to get to me?" and "Well, go get the doctor for me so I can ask him myself." You know- just being my usual direct and oh so diplomatic self. And in return, I got what I deserved- blank stares and downright glares in that "just who in the Hell does she think she is" kind of way. But really, in my opinion doctors are just people who need to move their bowels just like I do- on a good day, of course. 

Whereas, to me, the people that are often regarded as "The Help" are god-like creatures who bring a sense of humanity, care and compassion to those of us in our time of need. Yes, I loved the receptionist who would always wave me in and say: "You don't need to sign in. I got you marked off Ms. More." I really appreciated the lady who walked around in the lobby and passed out donuts (again with the donuts?). And let's not forget Ken, AKA the water-boy who checked in on me with such regularity- offering me treasures of water and yes, more donuts- that I felt like a marathon sprinter. 

And let's not forget those kick-ass Dayton nurses: Patty and Deb. I need to give a serious shout out to those ladies who seriously toil under work conditions that to me felt down-right inhumane. Clad in their blue chemo gowns and latex gloves, they worked like busy bees, pollinating each and every one of us with our special concoctions that keep us alive. It's grim work, chemo. Some will make it. Others won't. But these ladies- and all those like them- remind us that we're actually fighters- and we're a team- in it together- for life. They encourage us to keep turning our faces towards the sun and look on the bright side when really all you want to do is curl up in fetal position in a dark sleeper cell cave in Afghanistan. Premium cable be damned. 

And what about the verb help? Well, it's not an easy word for me to say out loud.  Saying "I need your help" to me is tantamount to admitting I slept with my sister's husband. I have three of 'em. You figure out which one it was...(kidding!) In other words, it's taboo for me. Period. But, I decided that upon my return, invoking all the best speech therapist tricks of the trade, I will practice saying it out loud. First, in private of course. I expect my friends will marvel, mouths agape, as I impress them with my new found skill set.

You've been warned. Once I get really good at this, your phones will blow up. You'll begin treating my emails like I'm a Nigerian prince who only needs you to pony up $1,000 to help me attain my inheritance. And my text messages- ignore them at your peril. 

I better end here. I have a date with my bathroom mirror.

CANCER: It isn't easy being green

So, the other day while talking with a dear friend about his past, err "lady friends" he commented: "You're jealous" or some shit to that effect. Now here's something you need to know, if you don't already. Like little Mowgli in the Jungle Book, I was raised by wolves. That is the basis of my upbringing. However, I also experienced a number of interventions from none other than my paternal grandma, Aline Fields. (Pronounced Ay-leen..Get it right, now.) And here's what you need to know about her- she despised people who would fall prey to petty and self indulgent emotions like jealousy. Her argument was always: "You don't have a damn thing that I can't get for myself. So why should I be jealous?" And she wasn't lying. She had many "man friends" and too many mink coats to count....Now that's pretty awesome coming from an African American woman with barely a high school education. And, I took her rigorous training to heart.

Jealousy is something that I too struggle to accept in my fellow human being. I just don't get it.

Until now.....

Ok, now this isn't going to be a blog about how I have somehow morphed into someone prone to this emotion. No...It's more of an exploration of what I am jealous of. Here it is. Are you ready? I'm jealous of your healthy immune system.

I think in a previous blog I mentioned my desire to kick old, healthy people. I meant it then- and still mean it today. I'm not proud. But there it is. And this week I experienced a little set-back in that I ran out of white blood cells- literally I had none. Those of you who get to take your healthy immune systems for granted do shit like, go to lunch with friends, go to the bathroom and NOT WASH YOUR HANDS (nasty, btw); and eat fresh fruits, vegetables and rotten, stinky cheeses.

As of last Thursday July 5, I have been quarantined. With those big old deer-in-the-headlights eyes, that members of the medical profession have when they tell you some serious business, nurse Deb told me to stay away from all of humanity and to basically bathe in Purell every 15 minutes. Do you know how harsh that stuff is on your skin? Since I also had chemo that day, I figured holing up someplace for a FEW DAYS wouldn't be a problem- especially since I sleep an average of 36 hours a day post treatment.

But wait- here's what happened- My gay, Jewish boyfriend from NYC came for a visit to my hometown AND the sun came out in Seattle. In between my napping sessions, GJBF regaled me with tales of his exciting life in the city. We talked about things like his neighborhood grocery shopping ventures, ordering in food containing mushrooms and the endless Chinese dumplings obtained from what can only be described as the Super Fund site, known as NYC's Chinatown. Seriously, once while visiting there, I watched a little kid take a dump in the gutters; and no one batted an eye.

NYC to an immune compromised person is the equivalent of drinking water from a nuclear power plant.

Now the sun coming out in Seattle is truly something to celebrate. WCDOP, Paul very kindly texted me photos of sun rises and idyllic boat docks. And truly I was happy for him. Honest. I was. But then he started blah-blah-blahing about his great run around Greenlake and his forays to Pike Place Market and to the movies. It was about that time when I entertained the idea of simply, well, choking him. For you see, (Aline, please understand) I was jealous.

While never that chick who ran anywhere- ever (and especially not as a form of exercise????) I took it for granted that I could, if I ever wanted to. And today, right now I would celebrate just being able to touch a public door handle- instead of making one of my kids do it for me. (Though it does evoke images of Queen Elizabeth I)...and don't even get me started on the state of affairs my toenails are in.....

So, there you have it. While I may not be prone to coveting things like say your: man, perfect hair, excellent shoe library, cavity free smile or your ability to write your holiday card in iambic pentameter, I will mow you down for your immune system, Martha Stewart style; for I am not a woman to be trifled with.....