An inspiring, well-written cancer blog

Blogging about one's cancer seems to be almost as prevalent as the disease itself. I'm working on (= thinking about occasionally) a blog entry about interesting cancer blogs, but right now I'd like to share my favorite. It's Leroy Sievers' npr blog, which he's been writing for a couple of years. Today he has asked people to respond telling how cancer has touched their lives, and the answers are wonderful. Check them out.
And here's my favorite quote from his blog:

Besides, don't they always say in the movies that you should never show fear? I don't want the cancer to know that I'm worried about it. I want the cancer to be worried about what I'm going to do to it. For all that the disease has done to me, I hope that it lies awake at night worrying about what I'm going to do next. That only seems fair.

-- Leroy Sievers
April 3, 2008 http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/

Green Bananas -- Not just the name of a blog

I'm having a wonderful family time, so I thought while I was doing that, I'd share a real green banana recipe with you. This comes from combining a couple of recipes I found on the internet. By the way, you can make this with plantains, but I don't recommend it. Too tough.
Green Banana Seafood Salad
Serves 4. Best made a day ahead so the flavors can blend.
· 3 unripe (green) bananas
· ¼ green pepper, chopped
· ¼ red pepper, chopped
· 1 cup small shrimp - peeled and deveined
· 1 cup crabmeat
· 1 small onion, chopped
· 2 cloves garlic, crushed
· 1 teaspoon sugar
· ¼ cup red wine vinegar
· ½ c olive oil
· juice of ½ lime
· ¼ cup sliced pimento-stuffed green olives
cherry tomatoes, avocado, whatever you like to garnish it with

DIRECTIONS Cut ends from green bananas and slit peel lengthways; keep peel on. Boil bananas about 15 minutes until soft yet still firm. Drain bananas and place in a pan of icy water until cool. Peel bananas and cut into 1/2-inch rounds. Coat with about 1 T olive oil.
Meanwhile, heat a bit more olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp and crab, and fry until cooked through, about 5 minutes. Set aside to cool.
1. Combine garlic, peppers, olives, onion, olive oil, vinegar, lime juice, in a bowl. Add bananas and seafood, toss to coat well. Salt and pepper to taste. Add garnishes, chill.

Last big chemo

Jerry won the scrabble game, but only because he went out and I had 11 points worth of letters on my rack. It was close.
The chemo went smoothly, though I think I'm more knocked out by it this time than either of the others. More nausea, less energy.
Cinda and Rob are here from Seattle for the week; actually they went down to Easthampton to see Max, Anya, and Miles yesterday afternoon and they will all come up this afternoon. I can't wait -- family is the best medicine (and besides, Jerry's cooking).
Medical plans are now that I'll have until May 12th off, time for my body and spirit to heal while the chemo zaps away at the cancer. Then on the 12th I start daily radiation plus twice a week lighter dose of chemo for a few weeks. Then we see what effect all this has had.
It's wonderful to hear all the news from family and friends. This has been (and continues to be) an unexpected joy of this blog. Keep it coming!

Radiation prep

As I went in today for my radiation prep, a tiny spider crawled along the steering wheel and reminded me that it's spring. I brushed it off the wheel, hoping I hadn't hurt it.
Then, while I was waiting for my appointment, I felt as though something was crawling under my T shirt. After I'd wiggled as unobtrusively as possible, I discovered that I'd brought the spider into the waiting room. It strolled around under my shirt and finally came out onto my sleeve. I flicked it off onto a plant, wondering if this was some sort of omen, and if so, of what.
I met with the radiologist, who told me all about the side effects I can expect (nausea, diarrhea, exhaustion), told me the set-up (I'll start the radiation/chemo on May 12th for five and a half weeks) and then said, with great excitement, that I was really lucky because their brand-new CAT scanner was up and running as of today, and it's much faster than the old one. When I said, "Oh, so you're practicing on me," he said very seriously, "No, of course not. We've used it already -- on one other person."
So I went in for the CAT scan, with the usual hospital johnny, IV with a contrast dye, and instructions to lie still. The room was crowded with three techs plus two trainers.
Conversation on their part was limited to further reminders for me to lie still and mutterings among themselves along the lines of "No, you don't attach that there,"
"Should the readings be this high?"
"This is really different from the old one. What is that for?", none of them leaving me totally confident.
Then they all left the room for the machine to do its work. As reminded (again) I lay still. Because the machine was new and the trainers long-winded, it apparently took more time than usual, but I was fine until I remembered the spider.
Believe me, there's nothing like having to lie completely motionless to give you hallucinations of arachnids crawling all over you. I managed not to twitch.
After the techs tattooed little dots on my middle to guide the radiation, they finally let me move and watched with fascination as I shimmied and flapped my arms. I had to asssure them that I was fine and that their wonderful new machine hadn't hurt me.
Spring is wonderful. Nature is wonderful. But next time, I kill the spider.

Best laid plans

We got in to the oncologist's yesterday afternoon, toys in hand, all prepared to spend the afternoon, only to be told that my wbc is so low that they weren't willing to give me the chemo treatment. Don't worry: it isn't really low, just below what the protocol insists on. After a bit of negotiation, we agreed that I'd come back in on Friday, when I have my meeting with the radiology people, get the blood work redone, and (we hope) do that final big chemo. (They wanted to wait until next Monday.)
It's upsetting. Despite a pleasant afternoon getting the back porch cleaned up so that we can use it and then a spontaneous beer-butt chicken barbecue with friends, I found myself having a mini-meltdown last night. I think it was triggered by the reminder that I'm not really in control. I can't even make my white blood cells do what I want.

Chemo Brain

Chemo brain is real. The scientists admit it, after years in which they explained to us that it was simply a psychological response to the stresses of dealing with cancer and chemotherapy. But now, if you check sites such as http://www.cancer.org/docroot/NWS/content/NWS_2_1x_Seeking_Solutions_to_Chemo-Brain.asp

http://www.cancer.org/docroot/NWS/content/NWS_1_1x_Researchers_Verify_%E2%80%98Chemo_Brain%E2%80%99_in_Cancer_Survivors.asp

you’ll find that it is a medically-recognized condition. In case you had any doubts, Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post-chemotherapy_cognitive_impairment even gives it a newer, longer, better name: Post-Chemotherapy Cognitive Impairment, which will undoubtedly be abbreviated to PCCI. What’s wrong with chemo brain (as a name)? For that matter, how did shell shock morph into PTSD? There are linguistic theories, but you'll have to look elsewhere. These days, I can't manage complex discussions.
The signs of chemo brain are memory lapses, loss of fluency, confusion, and loss of spatial orientation. For some reason, many people with this condition get depressed. So far, there don’t seem to be too many treatments for it, and all the medical profession can offer is that the symptoms seem to go away after a certain period of time. Maybe years.
In the spirit of helping others who may have this condition, I’d like to suggest ways of dealing with it and using it:

• Don’t spend a lot of time worrying about why you can’t remember whatever it is you can’t remember. If it’s important enough someone will tell you.
• A good excuse is that your brain has shut down for the time being so that you won’t lose too many cells.
• Write down everything you need to do in a small notebook that you attach to your wrist, like children’s mittens, with idiot strings.
• Remember to check the notebook occasionally.
• When your brain gives out and you stumble over a sentence, look the person directly in the eye and say, "Did you catch all that?"
• Understand that it’s okay to stand in front of the refrigerator with the door open for as long as it takes to figure out why you’re there.
• Just for fun, stare your oncologist in the eye, and say “Whoa – you’re treating me for WHAT?”
• Announce to worried friends, “At least it doesn’t affect my ability to drive.”
• Get a GPS system. This will help you find your way around the house.
• Always be thankful for the loving support your husband gives you, whatever his name is.
• If he beats you at Scrabble, scream loudly that he’s taking advantage of the handicapped.
  
  We’re off for chemo this afternoon. Jerry (see, I really do know his name) says that if I beat him during our ritual game it’s because he’s developed Chemo Brain by Lateral Transmission. I think he’s just jealous.
  
  
  

Wonderful things happen

• Two of my favorite males; this is the only picture I have in which neither of them is mugging (Jerry and grandson Miles).
• The ice is out on the pond in front of the house, and I've already seen canada geese, ducks, and the beaver.
• It must finally be spring, with peepers in the evening, birds chirping in the morning.
• Today we had a flying visit from nephew and niece, McKay and Hilary from Utah, before she runs the Boston Marathon on Monday. Go, Hilary!
• Monday is the last heavy-duty chemo; and none of it has been as difficult as I thought it might be.
• Wednesday is the Keene State Orchestra concert, with Jerry on bassoon, playing an all-Gershwin program.
• Thursday (best news of all) Cinda and Rob arrive from Seattle for a week's visit.
• I feel strong and well.

This is a week to savor in anticipation, to enjoy in progress, and to remember in contentment. May you have the same.

When the oxygen mask comes down, put it on and breathe normally

Jerry and I decided when all of this started that we would try to live as normal a life as possible. But someone keeps moving the goalposts.
I'm thinking of this at the end of what was, really, a "normal" week. I went to Pilates and Yoga, to the Y and the library, did some sewing and knitting, threw out a bunch of old teaching materials -- what could be more normal? Banal, even. But if you hold each of these up to the light, it looks different.
Yes, I went to Pilates and Yoga, and enjoyed them. But let's face it, whatever core muscles I once had are long gone, and in both classes I spent a lot of time lying on the mat recovering from things that used to be easy. I have to remember that I'm in a different place from before, and, in any case, Woody Allen says that 90% of everything is just showing up.
The sewing and knitting projects were both cancer-related. I modified the wonderfully inspirational sweatshirt Steve and Jack gave me, and knitted a headwrap. I should make a resolution to create something that has nothing to do with my situation.
I'd been promising myself to throw out the old teaching materials for two and a half years, but now I felt as though I had to explain it to Jerry, to myself, and to anyone else. Really, I'm throwing out stuff because I want to simplify my life and get rid of the non-essentials. Really, I'm not trying to make life easier for anyone who might happen to outlive me. Really.
And then I made arrangements to take the cat to the vet (she's licking her fur out; Jerry says it's a sign of solidarity with me), because on the one hand in normal times that's what you do when your pet has problems. On the other hand, how do I deal with anything extra? Life is already complicated enough. Same with getting my brace modified today. I had to think about it for quite a while: is it worth the expense in energy?
The thing is, no matter what you do, the elephant remains in the living room. You can't ignore it. I guess all you can do is vacuum around it and maybe occasionally use it as a footstool.

Power of Prayer

The responses to my last post got me thinking. Whose prayers weigh heaviest, and how do they weigh? As Blue Spruce suggests, maybe the experts have extra clout with the Almighty. In that case, who could I call on? Well, I had several Tibetan students with relatives who were monks in Dharamsala. Presumably, they know better-connected people who know even higher-ups in the Buddhist system. I’m probably only a few steps away from the Dalai Lama. Although he has certainly had quite a bit on his plate lately, he’s known for his altruism and empathy for the needs of all, so I imagine him calling a side kick and saying, “Tenzin, there’s this woman in North America who needs some extra help. Can you give one of the prayer wheels an extra spin for her?” How would this weigh against the prayer of the convenience store clerk, reaching momentarily through his own shock and anguish toward someone else?
The Book of Job is considered the greatest poem/conversation on Why Bad Things Happen to Good People. As a part of a kind of cosmic bet, God allows Satan to inflict evils on Job: loss of wealth, livestock, and ten children. That isn’t enough, so Satan gives Job boils. Job’s wife urges him to curse God and die, but he refuses. Unless I missed it, he doesn’t pray for either justice or mercy. At the end, he gets more livestock and children to make up for the collateral damage. Presumably, the new children completely make up for the ones who were crushed when a building fell on them as they feasted. But I wonder. Did they pray? Were their prayers completely disregarded? The Book of Job is not comforting for anyone but the protagonist.
However, few religious traditions guarantee that prayers will be answered in the way you expect them to be. When people tell me that they’re praying for me, I always feel a kind of warmth, almost a jolt of energy, but I don’t confuse it with a cure.
What the prayers, either the imagined ones from the Dalai Lama, the odd one from the clerk, or the meaningful ones of family and friends remind me of is the games of Red Rover we used to play when I was little. I was always the weakest link: everyone aimed for me, where I stood holding hands with Michelle and Suzanne, because they could always break through the line. Then someone on our team had the idea of our holding each other’s wrists instead of hands, and for the first time my part of the line held against the enemy. And then we decided to put our arms behind each others’ backs and hold the wrists of the next person in the chain. This strengthened our line so much that no one could break through. The enemy team gave up. That’s what I imagine your prayers doing for me. They strengthen the line and weaken the enemy.

Community happens

Blood work this morning: wbc is at 2.09, below normal (as expected at this point), but the good news is that everything else is more or less within normal range. I should wash my hands a lot and avoid people who are sick, but can otherwise do whatever I want. Yay!
So I stopped off to buy an energy bar on my way to the Y. I had to wait to pay until the clerk had finished a long conversation with the person ahead of me. Okay, I thought. I have plenty of time, and it's a nice day.
The clerk looked at me. "You look like someone who'd be interested in hearing this," he said. "I have colon cancer."
"Gee, that's too bad," I said. He must have noticed my scarf. " Mine is pancreatic."
He did a double take. I guess he hadn't noticed it after all. "Gee, that's too bad," he said. "I've had two colonoscopies, and they took out two tumors. The other was just pre-cancerous." He went on to tell me all the details, sizes, exact locations, how much it had hurt, and what the doctor had told him. After a while I thought, You know, this is more information than I really need from a total stranger.
He went on, "And then he asked me if I was gay. Why would he do that?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," I mean aside from the fact that your gestures are straight out of the first Cage aux Folles.
"I know I told him about the rectal bleeding -- " This is definitely too much information. -- "but it's not as though my friend and I ever do anything." I didn't need to know that , either.
I managed to move the conversation over to treatment options. He isn't getting chemo or radiation, but he still doesn't feel well. You know, bloating? No, please, don't tell me about your bloating. He told me about his bloating.
Finally I was able to pay for the energy bar. At the last moment, he pulled his thoughts away from his own situation and said, "You know, I'll be praying for you."
It struck me that those of us with cancer form a kind of community. Sometimes it's a weird one, but it's there.

Life goes on, even when you have cancer

I mentioned the well-diggers; we've spent quite a bit of time over the past week with them. Things escalated, as they tend to do, starting with our getting a dripping faucet fixed and somehow ending up with a new whatsis in our well, all of the 145 feet of well piping coiled up on the ground and giving up their years of rust, and, finally, a new tank in the basement. The results have included (thank heavens) a usually silent pump and (not so thank heavens) turbid water until today. When I turn on the water I have a flashback to an inn I stayed at once in the hills outside of Nairobi, where a servant in impeccable white uniform brought my tea in the morning, greeted me in perfect British English as I hid under the bedclothes , and then ran a bath for me. The bathwater was the same color as the tea.
In any case, we have now done our bit for the sagging economy, at least that part of it connected with plumbers and Cushing and Sons.
Then last night we heard munching and skittering in the attic. I swear we also heard some in the closet, but Jerry doesn't believe me. Apparently, some of God's Little Creatures decided that instead of going out into the springtime to do their thing they'd come into the house. Make that God's Confused Little Creatures.
I swore. The cats were delighted. Jerry, more practically, insisted that we take sleeping pills and turned the fan on for white noise. We made it through the night, but he's now out buying a trap which he plans to take up the ladder outside the house and somehow get into the attic. I'm not sure what happens next, and I'm not sure I want to know.
But all of this does make for distractions from what's been the kind of week where I've felt as though I might be coming down with the flu but haven't quite managed it. There are ups and downs -- ups including a knitting get-together and a trip out for pizza, downs including a lot of lying on the couch.

Meditation CDs and DVDs

Born and brought up a Quaker, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t meditate. Even though I don’t attend Meeting now, Jerry and I meditate every morning, and I certainly think of meditation and relaxation techniques as part of my toolkit for dealing with cancer.
Which is not to say that I’m anything more than a beginner: I’ll put my drunken monkey up against anyone else’s. I’m always ready to learn more, so I've been collecting some materials that promise to help me become a better meditator.
All of these depend on the same kind of willing suspension of disbelief that you need to enjoy a movie or a good book. Jerry has trouble when he visits my yoga class and the teacher says something like, “Let your shoulders sink into your shoulder blades, and your front ribs rest quietly on your back ribs.” He snaps to attention to figure out why all that is impossible. These techniques are not for him or anyone else who expects a logical universe.
Here are three cds that deal with meditation, only one of which I can recommend:
First, and weirdest, is one put out by GlaxoSmithKline. It’s called Guided Imagery: a Technique that Engages the Imagination in the Healing Process, by Belleruth Naparstek. The CD started with the standard breathing instructions, and then, somehow as I listened and breathed, some Beings appeared (I think she meant angels, but I kept seeing green extraterrestrials) who used Magick (and I could clearly hear the k) to shrink the tumors. At this point I snapped to attention and turned off the cd. I don’t do Magick.
I had hopes for Eight Meditations for Optimum Health by Andrew Weil, a guru of mainstream alternative medicine. The basic introduction with breathing instructions was fine, but I ran into trouble with the meditation on Healing Yourself. Strangely, it was the opposite problem from the first CD. In order to emphasize how powerful the body is in healing itself, he suggested a minor kitchen accident, cutting yourself with a paring knife. Suddenly in my mind the countertop was covered with blood and I couldn’t find a bandaid. I had to do a lot of deep breathing to counteract that image.
The best CD is Imagery and Meditations for General Health: 5 Relaxation Techniques for Optimal Well-being. (It strikes me that what all of these share is really awful titles.) This is by Jennifer Bloome, and she has a pleasant voice. The breathing section is standard, but there are a nice progressive muscle relaxation and a beautiful color imagery section. This is the one I use.
There are also two DVDs: Stress and Relaxation Explained, by Alice Domar, which is actually an infomercial designed to get you to buy the full set of DVDs, but which includes a nice guided relaxation with waves lapping up on a shore, and Dean Ornish’s The Spectrum, with Anne Ornish explaining and leading short meditations. Since I like to close my eyes while I meditate, neither of these is my choice.
Anyone else have any favorites?

Low energy day

You know it isn't a great day when your highest energy level happens at 8:30 a.m. It turned out to be the kind of day where I lay down for a minute on the couch and an hour and a half later woke up and decided that I really should get up and do something. After twenty minutes of thinking about that, and realizing that someone had to go to the bathroom, I finally did. Came back and repeated the process. I blame the Prochlorperazine. Heavy machinery, hmph. The heaviest machinery I was able to manage yesterday was knitting needles.
Doing socks with color-changing yarn was about my speed. I'm at a mechanical part, where I just go around and around in the simplest stitch, so I did this, thinking, ve-e-ery slowly, "Oh, yes.... It looks as though I'm almost through with the gray.... Next is blue.... Very nice.... Wonder... what... comes... next....." After a few minutes of this gripping excitement, I was ready for another nap.
Unfortunately, coffee and wine are back to not tasting good, though by last weekend they were almost back to delicious, so I have hopes that they (and food in general) will continue to be more and more attractive as I procede through this round and the next.

cancer jokes

Actually, the cartoons are better than the jokes. The best cancer jokes have to do with breast or testicular cancer, and even for those, you have to be there. (My favorite is apparently a common practical joke for testicular cancer patients after their first radiation. They hide a light stick between their legs under the covers for the wife to discover.)

These don't have anything to do with cancer, but anyhow:
Real Doctors Notes

1. Patient has two teenage children, but no other abnormalities.

2. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.

3. On the second day, the knee was better, and then on the third day it disappeared.

4. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to be depressed.

5. Discharge status: Alive, but without my permission.

6. Healthy-appearing decrepit, 69-year-old male, mentally alert but forgetful.

7. The patient refused autopsy.

8. The patient has no previous history of suicides.

9. Patient has left white blood cells at another hospital.

10. Patient's medical history has been remarkably insignificant with only a 40-pound weight gain in the last three days.

11. She is numb from her toes down.

12. Occasional, constant, infrequent headaches.

13. I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.

14. Skin: somewhat pale but present.

15. The patient has been depressed since she began seeing me in 1993.

After all, we expect them to be good doctors, not good writers.

By the way, I'm still feeling pretty well, with minimal nausea and exhaustion. Medication helped me avoid the constipation of the last time, though maybe too effectively. There's always something.

Second chemo

A horrible, terrible experience. I don't know how soon I'll recover. Jerry won, starting with a totally unfair 7-letter first play.

Oh, the chemo? Nothing to it. Well, not much. I made the mistake of asking the nurse if the injection into the port was supposed to sting like that, and she schlepped me down to the radiation people, who injected me with dye and took x-rays, which showed that everything was fine. By then, of course, the site had stopped stinging and all went smoothly for the chemo itself.

We had seen the doctor, who was pleased with how well I tolerated the first round. My blood counts are all back to normal, I haven't had overwhelming nausea or any vomiting, my appetite is about back, my weight is stable, no mouth sores or other problems (once the back healed), and while I complain of tiredness and lack of energy, he asked only if I could walk across the room without getting out of breath. We seem to have different definitions for lack of energy. He made one change in my chemo cocktail, cutting some of it down a bit so that though my wbc and platelets will go down next week as expected, they won't go down quite as much. It's a neat balance between enough chemo to wham the cancer cells but not so much that one cold germ knocks me out completely.

While Jerry and I played our Scrabble game, we shared a bagel and cream cheese. The person in the next recliner over, in the middle of a discussion with his nurse on severe nausea, averted his eyes.

After the game, Jerry went over to the Y for a sauna while I decided that the sock I was making Luther would easily fit a baby elephant and frogged (ripped out) the entire thing. This was actually good, because I'd decided I didn't like the pattern anyhow and was dreading the second sock. I re-cast on for two socks on two needles, a better pattern. (End of unexpected knitting interpolation)

Thanks to the anti-nausea medication in the IV and the Prochlorperazine I took when I got home, I was out of it all evening and crashed at 8:30 (yes, that's early even for me). Today I feel a bit woozy, but no nausea, just the feeling that I might be coming down with the flu. So it's a day to take it easy and watch Cushing and Sons dig in our front yard and decide what, if anything, is wrong with our well, and if it can be fixed.

Me being academic about unbridled lusts

Where better to find information on how to tie headscarves than in the religious traditions? All of the “people of the book” (Muslims, Jews, and early Christians) insisted on head coverings for decent females.
I started with Islam. When I was at the American University of Beirut in the ’60’s the only women who went veiled were from the countryside or Kuwait, though one Iranian friend admitted that during summer vacation she had to wear a chador covering her entire body. “But,” she added, “It gets really hot in Tehran, so I always just wear my bikini under it.”
I’m amazed at the number of Muslim women in the past twenty years who have embraced various forms of veiling. While I briefly considered the effect on Cheshire County if I suddenly appeared in a chador or a burka, it was really the hijab, the headscarf, that I thought might cover my bald head with a bit of elegance and comfort.
When I googled “hijab,” though, instead of styles, I found myself looking for answers to the question of why anyone with a full head of hair would want to cover it. I know why I want to cover my head. Not-quite-spring in New Hampshire is cold! This is not the case in large parts of the Muslim world.
Most of the Islamic reasons for head coverings came from Surah XXXIII, Verse 59 of the Qur'an: "O Prophet! Tell thy wives and thy daughters and the women of the believers to draw their cloaks close around them. That will be better, so that they may be recognized and not annoyed...." (from A.Yusef Ali's translation of the Qur'an; other versions translate the original Arabic as "veils" where Ali uses "cloaks").” http://english.emory.edu/Bahri/Veil.html . I paused to note that there was no suggestion that the men should simply behave themselves and not annoy the women.

After a couple of sites on snoods and tichels, I went on to briefly check out Jewish law on headcoverings.
“The Talmud in Kesuvos 72a states that the source for this prohibition [covering the hair] is from BaMidbar (Numbers) 5:18 which deals with the laws of a sotah - a suspected adulteress - and states, "The priest shall stand the woman before God and uncover her hair...". Rash'i (Rabbi Shlomo Yitchaki, 1040-1105, author of the primary commentary on the Talmud) provides two explanations for the Talmud's conclusion, one, that from the fact that she is punished … for exposing her hair to her paramour we see that this is prohibited and, two, from the fact that we expose her hair we see that under normal conditions a Jewish woman's hair should be covered.”
http://members.aol.com/LazerA/headcovering.htm

The reasoning seems circular and left me wondering if the adulteress would have been okay if she’d exposed everything else to her paramour while leaving her hair decently covered.
A bit of clarity came from
http://www.myjewishlearning.com/daily_life/TheBody/Clothing/Headcoverings.htm
“In Jewish tradition, and even in very old linguistic usage, "an uncovered head" means unbridled license.”

That’s it! My goosebumpy scalp is going to lead someone to unbridled license. Or maybe not. The first quote clearly talks about hair, not just head.

A Christian site http://www.achristianhome.org/ModestFeminine/ModestyFeminineAttireIndex.htm made the whole subject clearer, with a page titled Are men lusting after your wife or daughter? The article states that “Men have to look at women, and if they are dressed immodestly it is a tremendous battle not to lust after them.” Modest dress, the author explained, would prevent this calamity; but also, I noted, here were more men with self-control issues.

It all comes together. Islam, Judaism and Fundamentalist Christianity all agree that there is shame before God or man (or both) for a woman to uncover her hair. It leads to all kinds of frenzies of lust, though there isn’t complete agreement as to who will fall into these frenzies. The Christians are sure, and the Muslims seem to think that it is the men who will be unable to control themselves (and will “annoy” the women), while the Talmud leaves it unclear whose unbridled license results from the uncovered hair.
But what about women without hair?
Christian sites and the Muslim one quoted I Corinthians 11:

But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God…. But every woman that prayeth or prophesieth with her head uncovered dishonoreth her head: for that is even all one as if she were shaven. For if the woman be not covered, let her also be shorn or shaven; but if it be a shame for a woman to be shorn or shaven, let her be covered.

Well, I’m not sure about the praying, but I have no plans to prophesy. The last part suggests that it’s an either/or proposition. Since it’s no shame for me to be shorn or shaven, I don’t have to be covered?
But what about those hordes of men who are going to fight that tremendous battle not to lust after me? Not to mention the cold weather. It’s back to the internet to find more ways to tie my scarves. And this time I won’t get sidetracked.

Yesterday included

• a trip to the library where I was able to find six books, including some good stuff and some good mind rot
• a massage
• a sauna
• knitting, during which I solved yet another problem in the Endless Sweater
• wonderful messages, both from a friend I love dearly and a couple of people I'd thought were just acquaintances
• an angel food cake from a neighbor
• dinner out! in a real restaurant! with real people!
• the dvd with the last episode from Flight of the Conchords

Yes, I long for sunny, sandy beaches and someone serving me drinks with little umbrellas in them. But until the snow melts, this is as good as it gets. Hope your weekend has started as beautifully.

So how are you, really, part two

Psychologically? Well, just as with physically, it's up and down. Right now, it's up, mostly because I feel so well physically that I can't really believe that I'm not.
But even that isn't that simple. I feel well physically, except that I'll be on an errand and suddenly realize that the energy isn't there, as though someone had turned off the tap. Or that I find myself planning on just one errand instead of two or three. Or that I lie down after lunch and fall asleep so completely that I wake up with no sense of having slept.
On the other hand, I'm taking a walk again in the mornings, though I can't manage the hills that Jerry and I used to do every day and that he still does. And being able to go out at all is a treat that I appreciate.
Maybe physically isn't as clear cut as I thought; and psychologically is even more complicated. The shock of the diagnosis has worn off, mostly, though when I unexpectedly think of it, I have the same disbelief as at the beginning. Not denial so much as the horror of stepping on a stair that isn't there.
Days are easier than nights. I usually don't have trouble falling asleep, but 3:00 a.m. is not a good time. That's when everything I put out of my mind during the day comes crowding back in, like the statistics. Those are enough to destroy any chance of sleeping.
However, there's a short essay by Stephen Jay Gould, which cancer survivors hang onto. Check it out -- and if his take on statistics is off, don't tell me. He helps me get back to sleep.
http://cancerguide.org/median_not_msg.html

So how are you, really?

That’s a question I get fairly often, usually just before, “Well, you look good.” Today it came in a different tone. I was at the Kingsbury Cancer Center (KCC) getting my blood drawn. The man next to me lay stiffly on his recliner and stared at the cartoons on the TV above him, ignoring the remote. As the nurse and I chatted, his attention slowly pulled over to us, and while the nurse was on an errand, he asked me how I was. I realized that what he was really asking was, “How am I? How am I going to be?”
It was his first time at the KCC. He’d just been diagnosed and was about to start treatment, and when I told him that I’m feeling really great these days, but that I’m due for another chemo on Monday, he asked, “What does it feel like? Do you get really sick?” The questions poured out of him. I know the KCC, and I’m sure the doctors and nurses had told him all of this, but as a teacher I know that sometimes you have to hear the same things several times from different people to grasp them.
The nurse pointed out that everyone’s disease and treatment is unique, so everyone reacts differently. She finished up with me, so I stayed on to chat with him while I waited for my results.
I told him that for me the first couple of days after chemo are the worst from the standpoint of nausea, exhaustion, lack of appetite, but that slowly I feel better. Then, about a week after treatment I sag physically and emotionally, and then slowly I begin to feel good again. Then it’s time for the next chemo, but there’s nothing that can’t be handled.
I asked, “What kind of cancer do you have?”
His voice held a mixture of shock and a kind of grim satisfaction. “Lung cancer. Inoperable.”
I thought, wow, this guy’s really sick. I said, “The important thing is that you’re in a good place. These people are fantastic, and they’ll do everything they can.”
He said doubtfully, “I suppose attitude makes a difference.”
I agreed, and started to say how important friends and family are – but I stopped. His words and body language suggested that he doesn’t have that kind of support. I felt an impulse to take him on as a project, and had to remind myself that I, too, am sick and need to spend my energy on myself. I compromised by saying, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again here, and I look forward to talking some more,” but he had already turned away and was staring back at the cartoons.

My wbc and platelets are not yet normal but have improved enough that the doctor said I can do anything as long as I stay away from sick people. I immediately went to the Y and worked out. It felt good.

Hair today

If you go in to the hairdresser's on the first of April and she says,"So, just a trim today?" and you say, "Nope. Shave the whole thing down to the nub," she'll say, "This is a joke, right?" Nope.

My hair's been falling out for the past few days. You can tell where I've been by the drift of white and gray filaments in my wake. The cats are envious: a mere human shouldn't be able to shed like that. More annoying than the untidiness of it, though, is the fascination of being able to yank and have a handful come out. I found myself sitting and pulling mindlessly.

So today was the day. Jerry had to go back over my head with a razor after I came back from the hairdresser's. She'd left the kind of stubble that is (I think) still fashionable on young men's chins, but we were going for the billiard ball effect, which I think we finally achieved.

I have several reactions to this whole thing. First, I've been through it all before. No big deal. Maybe it will grow back in fluffy curls like the last time. Meanwhile, I have a couple of great hats made by my own personal milliner, plus several scarves.

Also, in the larger scheme of things, this is nothing. If the worst I have to deal with is a cold scalp, I'm luckier than most people.

But. But. Suddenly I'm identifiable as a Cancer Patient. I am visibly different, the Other, and I this bothers me more than I expected. It's one thing to get expressions of love and concern from the people close to me; it's something else to see the flicker in the eyes of strangers as they look at my head.

Okay, so I could wear a wig, but I refuse to do that. It's only now as I sort through this that I suspect the reason is that for me, wearing a wig would be the ultimate denial. It would be as though I were hiding the fact that I have cancer even from myself. So that leaves it that I just want to hide it from total strangers. Which now that I've thought about it seems just plain silly.

While I'm clearly not a poet, this expresses my overarching feeling about hair loss:

Trees release their leaves,

Send them as messengers to the world:

Say, deal with the cold, the pain, the emptiness.

Your reward is spring, new leaves, new life.

Gekkos drop their tails,

Confuse persuing predators:
You can't catch me, stripped down for action.

I'll escape, regenerate, renew.

My hair falls out in handfuls,

Litters the floor, blows into corners.

My cold and naked scalp proclaims:

I will survive. Await my spring.