The Glass is Half-Full

I've not posted anything for a few weeks. I figured that out when in the last few days I had received messages and emails and texts checking in on me or asking how I was doing. Silence, I decided, is not so golden because in that void conjecture can take it's place, good, bad or otherwise. I am doing well, still a poster child for chemo. Last week, I started the Taxol which is a lighter weekly infusion. My sister, Kelli, came in from the other side of the Lake to take me to chemo and take care of me (something she has done my whole life!). Since this initial dose starts with a large dose of Benadryl, a good nap was guaranteed and Kelli said she might take pictures of me that may or may not have included drawing on my face with a Sharpie. Thankfully, she was kidding (right Kelli?) and my nurse Alicia, who is also a middle sister, was looking out for me by telling Kelli that she didn't have any Sharpies!  Those of you with sisters understand the bond shared. And my s

Dame Edna and I have a lot in common these days. I am a drag queen, because post-chemo my tuchus is dragging but like Dame Edna, I'm owning it! I mean, if I'm going to be one sorry sluggish sloth, I will do it it style. My style, but style nonetheless. I will wear a comfy pair of leggings with a periwinkle t-shirt that reads, "LSE Mum" and a pink hoodie from Wabash College and pink socks that read "Cancer Sucks" - with my absolutely most fab glasses and pink lipgloss. This poster child for chemo is rocking her runway! You'll just have to take my word for it, because there is no way I'm going to post a pic; mostly because it would require a level of energy that is lacking and the pic itself might just shatter the illusion I have that I'm looking great! I saw a commercial recently for Walgreens whose message was to battle beautifully. Women, all with cancer, are shown getting beauty advice or makeovers. I applaud and am at the same

I made the comment to my oncologist last week, during my chemo infusion, that I could be a poster child for chemo.  "You pretty much are," she said. I have thus far been sailing through chemo, albeit like a sailboat stuck out in the middle of Lake Michigan when the winds die and it's not moving for three to four days. Because my primary side effect has been extreme fatigue for 3-4 days post chemo. Last Saturday, 2 days post chemo, I took my shower and got dressed and announced to John that I now needed a nap - that kind of fatigue.  And being a woman who has dealt with the fatigue of MS, I thought this chemo kind would be familiar and similar to the exhaustion I feel on a hot summer day where retrieving the mail (our mailbox is at the end of our driveway) while riding my scooter to get it  feels like I've run a 5K. That kind of fatigue. This is the kind that makes it difficult to even get up, needing a nap after getting out of bed. Well that might be a little