Please read this article

Anna Rachnel, a woman who is also living with metastatic breast cancer, wrote this brilliant blog post and analysis of Nancy Brinker (sister of Susan Komen) and Komen's commitment to funding research dollars. Please read the whole thing and share it with others any way you can, on Twitter, Facebook or in other ways. This is too important a story not to be told and re-told.

After listening to an televised interview with Nancy Brinker, Anna begins with:

"Unfortunately, this is what I heard. That the public can't handle the unattractive truth about breast cancer. That the only way to raise money for the cause is through feel-good experiences and products. That people shouldn't think about dying from this disease. That 5-year survival rates for early breast cancer are the only statistics that matter. That metastatic breast cancer is still unmentionable and a lost cause financially. That more of Komen's money is going to research than is actually the case."

 And she ends with:

"I've said this before and I'll say it again; screening, treatment and education will never result in a cure for my cancer, or any other late stage cancer. Game-changing research, the kind that is generally done in a laboratory, is the only hope that I have that my cancer will be cured. "

Amen to you, mets-sister!

First Gemzar today

My first treatment with Gemzar today went smoothly. Not knowing if I needed to have blood drawn for labs, we arrived early to find that was indeed the case. A friend came to hang out with Rik and I while we waited for the nurse to call me.

After waiting almost an hour for the pharmacy to prepare the drug, the actual infusion only lasted about 45 minutes. Of course, by 1:15 we were both pretty hungry, so Rik bought some piroshki (mine spinach and mushroom; his potato and mushroom). We noshed those right up, and after the treatment was over, went to Molly Moon's for ice cream. (I had chili chocolate, which was DELICIOUS!).

I crashed at home for my usual post-chemo nap, made dinner (broiled salmon, kale "chips" and corn), and am already in  my pajamas by 8 PM. I plan to take it easy tonight, maybe read a bit and watch the fashion coverage from the Oscars.

Here's hoping for Gemzar to be highly effective, well-tolerated and minimal side effects.

News flash: Hot flashes are good! Or at least not bad for you!

Is it hot in here?


A new study of menopausal women shows that hot flashes aren't all bad. We found that women who experienced symptoms when they began menopause had fewer cardiovascular events than those who experienced hot flashes late in menopause or not at all, says endocrinologist Emily Szmuilowicz, lead author of a study that will be published in the June issue of Menopause magazine. (For some reason, unlike AARP, Menopause magazine doesn't automatically find you when you're at that age.) You can read an abstract of the paper, titled “Vasomotor symptoms and cardiovascular events in postmenopausal women” here. Or the Northwestern Memorial Hospital press release, which is easier to absorb, here.

[painting: Hell by Bosch]

Healthy Spirits: New Stuff

1. Lost Abbey Angel's Share (Brandy)
2. Bockor OMER Traditional Blond
3. Port Brewing Mongo DIPA
4. Green Flash Barleywine 2011
5. Green Flash Hop Head Red
6. Green Flash Imperial IPA
7. Kasteel Rouge
8. Delerium Tremens glassware is back!

cheers,

dave hauslein
beer manager
415-255-0610

Gemzar in my future

I saw Dr G yesterday and got the results of my recent CT scan. This (perhaps lazy? or just busy) radiologist wrote that I have "close to ten low attenuation lesions consistent with metastases in the right and left lobes" of my liver. (The previous radiologist counted seven lesions in my liver, so from this radiologist's report we don't really know if there are actually more now.) The liver lesions appear to have been stable since the last scan in 2010. The potential lung metastasis, originally found in 2002,  has decreased in size since 2008, and the bone mets appear "grossly stable." By physical exam, the mass in my right breast is now measured at 7.5 mm, a clear improvement. The largest scalp met, which to me seems to have grown, gave me a little pain earlier this week, and Dr G said that might be a good sign; i.e. it's responding to the chemo.

However, one of my blood markers for the liver is just a scootch above normal, so Dr G does indeed want me to start Gemzar, another chemotherapy, probably on Monday. We also recalled that he discontinued Fareston (toremifine) after only a couple of months because I developed uterine bleeding while taking it. Now that I've had a hysterectomy, he may choose to put me back on this estrogen-blocking drug, since I had a long run of two years on its cousin tamoxifen.

I am okay with more chemo, but I sure wish that it would really kick some cancer butt. Stable is good, but I'd like to see these liver lesions shrink to nothing.

i'm fine.

Better than fine, actually. And I have lots of posts stewing in my head (that sounds kind of gross).

But I've had to spend the last few days running around doing all the things I couldn't get to when I wasn't feeling well.

Regularly scheduled (or at least semi-regularly scheduled) programming will resuming shortly.

Healthy Spirits: Red Poppy

Lost Abbey Red Poppy just arrived. Only 1 case for now. Beer Club members can call to reserve (Limit 1) everyone else can ask for it. Will be behind the counter.
Please do not attempt to contact us by e-mail or facebook today, as our main computer is down.

dave hauslein
beer manager
415-255-0610

Healthy Spirits: Computer Problems

FYI: Our computer is down for the day. We will be unable to respond to e-mail until this evening at the very earliest. We will also be unable to provide updates on new releases until tomorrow.

Red Poppy hasn't arrived yet, but it will probably come in today. Only Beer Club members may reserve bottles, limit 1 per person. This is not open for shipping. Bottles will be behind the counter, so you will have to ask for them.

Call us at 415-255-0610 with any further questions. We apologize for any inconvenience.

cheers,

dave hauslein
beer manager
415-255-0610

Man speaks for woman

O O O this should not bother me, but after all I'm the Bitch, and so many things can bother me that wouldn't bother a non-bitchy person. There's a woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer at Sloan-Kettering, just one of 200,000 women who will hear that the test was positive this year, and the noteworthy thing about her is that she's the Wife of a Doctor. A Doctor at Sloan-Kettering, and ain't that ironic or crazy or what-have-you, and since this is the age of irony, her husband gets to write about the experience in the New York Times. Am I jealous? Yes. Is that what's fueling my ire? Yes. No. Am I annoyed that he writes in an ungainly fashion and strains when he makes comparisons and isn't very interesting? Yes. Am I jealous? O, we covered that. Sort of. It's in the New York Times blog, not print, and since cyberspace is everywhere and nowhere, in a way you could say that it is not in the New York Times, or you could say it is there and everyplace else in the known world. But even at the blog, aren't there editors? Must not be, otherwise we wouldn't have such sentences as: The late nights along the Seine were as dark and dreary as the sunshine was bright that Wednesday morning on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

The author is a doctor at Sloan-Kettering. What kind of cancer doctor? No one says. He admits that the white coat has been his protection against involvement and emotion. But anyone who's ever visited a hospital could tell you that. He also has pull, not surprisingly. He tells us that they got an appointment with a friend who's a breast surgeon: When I told him Ruth had felt a lump, he had made room to see us right away.

Which is nice. And I'm sure they have insurance, which is good because I doubt that professional courtesy would pay for all her subsequent treatments. Which is good for them, especially since they seem pretty young and it appears from this first installment that the cancer has spread to her lymph nodes. (Though you've read here that removing cancerous lymph nodes may not be required, after all.)

Of course, a more erudite decision on the part of the Times would have been to tap (virtually) the shoulder of the Cancer Bitch and offer her the blog spot. She could write: When the Cancer Bitch has Blood Cancer, a comedy of manners that has not yet ended. But the tap was not received, no messages were left. And a more relevant and important and serious decision would have been to get an uninsured woman to write about her breast cancer. Or, second best, the husband of said woman. Or daughter. Finding such a person would be easy--it is said in these parts that a scoffing full professor (the kind who hires adjuncts) once said he could spit outside the window of his office downtown and spray any number of PhDs, the point being that those with doctorates in English should be grateful, o so grateful, hat in hand and bowing and scraping, if and when they were offered a couple thousand dollars for teaching a course as an adjunct. So too, unapocryphally, you could walk to to the county hospital here, named for a politician, John Stroger, who spent his last days, comatose, in a private hospital (Fancy Hospital, in fact), and find hosts and hosts of people without health insurance. Interestingly, ABC News told us: Stroger lost a brother who was turned away from a segregated hospital in the South, and the availability of quality healthcare became his pet issue. He struggled for decades -- sometimes alone -- to make sure the Cook County Hospital remained open. There was a libertarian Republican named Tony Peraica who ran against Todd Stroger, son of John, for Cook County Board president, and I didn't like Peraica's politics at all, but I had to appreciate one commercial in which he said he would improve Cook County Hospital so that it would be good enough for John Stroger to go to. Peraica lost and Stroger died and Ariel Sharon remains cocooned in his own coma, and I think no one in Israel has the chutzpah to pull the plug on him. The photo above right is of a sculpture of Sharon by artist Noam Berlavsky.

The transformation implied in the blog, I think, is that a doctor regains his vulnerability and dare we say humanity, not to mention humility, when he is the spouse of a patient, and not a Doctor draped in sanitary whites. This is a tricky concept, because we writers would tell him that the story is his--but if he makes the story too much his own, he will seem like a cad because it's his wife who was stricken. The best thing for him, in order to remain a sympathetic narrator, is to contract a serious disease himself. But such things take time.

Outrageous!

This news is outrageous! The TSA wanted to pat down a woman because she'd had a mastectomy and was wearing a prosthetic breast form?! I am appalled and registered my complaint with the TSA. Click here for a link to the TSA complaint form. Use the section entitled "Inappropriate Screening/Pat Down Screening."

Alaska lawmaker refuses TSA pat-down at Sea-Tac

An Alaska state lawmaker is returning home by sea after refusing a pat-down search at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

By BECKY BOHRER
The Associated Press

JUNEAU, Alaska — An Alaska state lawmaker is taking a ferry home after refusing a pat-down search at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, a spokeswoman said.

Rep. Sharon Cissna underwent a body scan as she was preparing to leave the airport Sunday and was then required to undergo the pat-down by Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) officials, said Michelle Scannell, her chief of staff.

Scannell said the TSA called for the pat-down because the scan showed Cissna had had a mastectomy.

The TSA, on its website, says security officers "will need to see and touch your prosthetic device, cast or support brace as part of the screening process."

Scannell did not elaborate beyond the statement.

TSA spokesman Kawika Riley, after being asked to respond to Cissna's comments, issued a general statement that did not mention Cissna or the Anchorage Democrat's claims.

Scannell, in her statement, said Cissna was ordered to submit to a "very intrusive pat-down or leave the airport." She said Cissna, who had been in Seattle for medical treatment, was scheduled to return to Alaska via ferry.

Scannell could not immediately say how soon Cissna would return. The Legislature is in the midst of a 90-day session.

Riley, in a general statement, said the TSA is "sensitive to the concerns of passengers who were not satisfied with their screening experience and we invite those individuals to provide feedback to TSA."

Riley did not immediately return a phone message Monday.

Both full-body scanners and pat-down searches have come under increasing criticism as the TSA has stepped up its airport-security measures.

Sticker shock

I got my fresh supply of Revlimid delivered to me today. I'm now on 20 mg. The drug company doesn't make a 20 mg pill, so I have to take two 10 mg pills, which means I got 42 pills shipped to me instead of the usual 21. It didn't seem like that big of a deal, until I glanced down at the little slip that came with it and realized that the price for 42 pills is now twice as high.

Fortunately -- very fortunately -- we still only pay a $20 co-pay for the Revlimid, but does anyone want to guess how much the actual price of my bottle of pills is? Anyone?

Over EIGHTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Eighteen thousand dollars. For a three-week supply of medication.

This means that the little pill bottle sitting on my dresser is officially the most expensive thing that I own. It is worth more than my car. I'm kind of scared to touch the pills, and I certainly don't want to mess them up by, you know, swallowing them or something.

The Bitch Ponders, Part 5

Before I left for the conference I was talking to L about the Friend Who Will Not Friend Me on Facebook because she's been mad at me since the Carter Administration, and L said calmly, Maybe she was a friend for a season.
A friend for a season.
Yes, she said, some people are just friends for a season. When the season's over, you have time and space for more friends.
It sounds like clearing out your closet of old clothes so that you'll have room for new ones. What is so precious about old friends anyway?
They remember the same things you do, even if they remember differently.
At lunch with my old friend A, we talked about how in 1984 we stayed in S's house in San Salvador, and I said, How did that happen? And she said, You were friends with him, you arranged it.
It must have been so, though I have no recollection about how I made arrangements with S for us to get into his house when he was gone. Gone where? On assignment somewhere in Latin America. I remember that he and another foreign correspondent, J, maybe his lover? we wondered, arrived just as we were leaving. I know that I knew who he was. Maybe we were friends. Or friendly acquaintances.
There's someone else from that long-ago newsroom who is now living here and I can' remember: How friendly were we? What I really mean is: Does he remember me? I must have spoken with him but I don't remember ever going out with him in a group or talking to him at a party, though I must have. We were all, as one editor liked to put it, insecure over-achievers, in our twenties and thirties and we worked hard and some of us suspected that the Glory Days had ended when an iconoclastic editor had left (just before I got there). In his place were corporate citizens. Now of course we look back and see that those days in the mid-80s were the glory days, when the Miami Herald was much much fatter, and the Sunday magazine still existed, on glossy newsprint, and the Miami News still existed as a spindly competitor, and Management gave us money to travel to do national stories when there was really no good reason to do them except some editor's whim. And I wrote some good things but I was wrapped and cloaked and covered and corseted by anxiety. If only there had been SSRIs in those days! I did take an anti-depressant for a spell, which gave me cotton mouth and buoyed me up some but ultimately didn't do the job. I remember telling M at the next desk that I was taking them. (My reunion with M after 26 years is covered in the previous post.)
***
Old friends give you back part of your life. They remember what you were like. They burrow deep into you. If you're lucky.

Heavy socializing

This weekend has been full of people! From Shabbat dinner with friends to a crowded synagogue and two birthday parties, we have been shmoozing all over town.

On Friday it was a dear friend 60th's birthday. Feeling lonely, he organized a Shabbat dinner for himself, and we stepped up to the plate, despite the fact that everyone invited knew that there was a surprise party for him planned for the next night. The hosts picked up huge balloons and made a delicious dinner of chicken tagine, couscous and green salad; the birthday boy brought the challah and champagne; and I made the world's best non-chocolate dessert, based on a recipe from Cook's Illustrated: lemon bars and lemon flavored whipped cream. We had a great time and managed to keep the secret about the next day's party.

On Saturday morning I was scheduled to lead putting away the Torah scrolls and the musaf service at synagogue. I haven't done this in almost a year, due to the dislocated elbow in April and the practically constant chemo since May. I prepared some new tunes, and got my equivalent of stage fright -- when I opened my mouth to sing a new song, something entirely unexpected came out. Oy!

This has happened once before, when I let the pressure of the moment get on top of my feeling ready to sing a new piece. Yesterday I managed to recover and pull through the end of the Torah service, and by the time we got to musaf I was fine. But for a few minutes I kept saying to myself: "WTF? What was that?"

Saturday night's first party was the surprise one. I had ordered the birthday cake from Bakery Nouveau and brought it to the restaurant. About 20 people gathered to await the guest of honor, who arrived on time and acted surprised to see us all. We enjoyed a terrific Indian dinner. The super-moist chocolate cake with 64% chocolate mousse, chocolate glaze and chocolate shards was a big hit. The chef even wrote happy birthday and drew a sailboat on top.

Around 9:30 PM we arrived at the second party in time to do some great dancing. Rik stayed for a bit to say hi to people but I let him off the hook to go home early, and asked friends to take me home later. We danced and danced to the music of several local Balkan bands. Around midnight I gave up, and probably missed some fun late night singing, but by this point I was pooped. One of the bands was seriously over-miced and too loud for conversation, so I spent a large part of their set shouting instead of being able to talk.

This morning it was really hard to get up and go to a synagogue meeting on time, but I barely managed the feat. My voice was down in its lowest depths, my eyes are sagging, but this great weekend was worth it!

scoped

I once had a colleague who was a former Fleet Street journalist. I can't remember his name but I do remember a story he told over a particularly boozy dinner.

"The worst kinds of press releases," he said, "keep all the best bits for the end. That's just not how it should be done. It's like reading a news story that says 'A crowd gathered at Buckingham Palace today. There were also fire engines and ambulances. The corgies were brought out to safety. The Palace burned to the ground. The Queen is dead."

As I went on to work in communications, I kept that anecdote in mind and tried to make sure that the most important facts were kept in the lead of my news releases.

But this is not a news release and I can tell my story in way that pleases me.

I had an endoscopy yesterday.

I wasn't terribly worried when the secretary at reception couldn't find any record of me. I credit the Ativan for that. You still feel the anxiety but it's further away. Almost like it's someone else's anxiety.

She must have found me in the end, because I was called into the endoscopy unit, given an id bracelet and told to change into a robe.

The endoscopy unit at the Civic Hospital could use a facelift. The paint was peeling off the walls in the waiting room and the beds in the prep and recovery area are separated by curtains. My neighbour and I learned a lot about each others' medical histories and bowel movements.

Every nurse I spoke to was very taken aback that I should have metastatic breast cancer at my age.

Every one of the nurses was really kind.

The nurse who took my history and prepped me for the anesthetic noted my "crappy veins" but she got the vein accessed in one poke, so major kudos to her.

My bed was eventually wheeled into the room where the procedure would be done. At this point, I met Dr. A. for the first time. There was another doctor with him who introduced himself so quickly that I didn't catch his name. This second doctor, who I assume was a resident (why don't they introduce themselves as such? Residents always say, "I work with Dr. So and So." They never say "I am learning from Dr. So and So. Do they think the patients can't be trusted with this information? This really bugs me because I can always tell they are residents and I would be much more forgiving if they were honest with me) began to very rapidly list off all the horrendous risks of the procedure and then handed me a waver to sign. 

It's a good thing that I had done tons of my own research (and that I had taken the Ativan) because I might have demanded that they wheel me out of there.

Dr. A. asked me if I had signed the waiver and if I had any questions. I said, "I just want to get this over with."

I mentioned my strong gag reflex to Dr. Resident. He instructed the nurse (pompously? Am I being biased?) to give me some extra shots of the anesthetic spray for my throat (I had the distinct impression that the nurse was going to do this anyway but perhaps I am biased). Then they hooked me up to the drip, placed a plastic frame with a hole in it in my mouth and shoved a tube down my throat.

I then proceeded to gag, choke and gasp for breath. Tears streamed down my face. 

I'll never forget the nurse who gently held my head and spoke comfortingly to me.

It's amazing how big the endoscopy tube looked to me. There's no way it could have  been that big in real life.

I heard Dr. A. say something about how studies had shown that the gag reflex was greatly diminished when Fentanyl is administered.

I heard Dr. Resident sound surprised.

A nurse administered Fentanyl via my IV. And then I was really, really stoned (I just read that Fentanyl is 100 times more potent than morphine and I had a cocktail with other sedatives).

Not sure if I passed out or not but I was pretty woozy. I know they called T. to come and get me. And I know that one of the nurses suggested I try and get dressed.

I sat up and nearly puked. The nurse got me to lie back down again.

Lather, rinse and repeat a few times.

One of the nurses gave me some apple juice, which helped.

I asked what drugs I had been given. A nurse looked that up and said with surprise that I had been given a drug in the Valium family and Fentanyl. She said, "No wonder you're so wasted."

I heard someone mention Gravol (known as Dramamine in the US). I now understand why they give it to me each time they give me Demerol at the cancer centre. They gave me a barf bag.

I texted T. to see why he still hadn't arrived. He texted back that he was in the waiting room. I told him to come get me. He said that the secretary wouldn't let him past the waiting room.

If he wasn't allowed past the waiting room and I wasn't allowed to leave without him (nor could I walk on my own), we were kind of stuck.

One of the nurses went to get him.

Before I left, Dr. A. came to talk to me. He said that I am to come to his office in around four weeks, at which time I will get my results. He also told me that there were no visible tumours (see what I mean about burying the good stuff under a whole pile of details?).

I went home and slept for 6 and a half hours. It would have been longer if T. hadn't come into the room to check on me. I was pretty dopey all evening (giving all my online Scrabble opponents an unfair advantage) and hit the hay before 10.

My throat hurts today and I'm still kind of tired but I did get out for a run (it's 10C here today that's 50F), so I guess I'm recovering pretty well.

In a months time, I'll find out if the biopsies revealed any pre-cancerous cells. Or if I have celiac disease. And Dr. A. promised that if they don't find anyting, he's going to want to do a colonoscopy.

What fun.

blogaphobia

When ever I haven't blogged for awhile I get anxious, thinking I have to blog, enduring a massive writer's block and forgetting all of the things I wanted to say in the first place.

meh.

I've taken a few weeks month off to attend to personal issues, i.e., the rearranging of my life. I've made some progress. I am short one life-partner at the moment, which saddens me. To stuff the pain I've also been purchasing an unfortunate amount of socks from this store.

Our project has been funded and we're delving deep into the world of comic book production, from learning spacial layouts, to composing an epic story with a slight (hopefully not too cliché) nod to the hero's journey. As we come up with new ideas, the story keeps getting richer, more coherent, more inherently awesome. I really can't wait to see it in its final form.

In addition, I'm designing a small capsule collection of metal free dresses & separates to go with the printed scarves that we offered our backers. These pieces are meant to be an alternative to the lowly hospital gown, but beautiful enough for a night out. We plan to launch the collection and comic together. Ok, enough gushing!

Here are a few photos of my sketchbook and our project board:

Health-wise, I've been having the same problems-- scar tissue/nerve pain, GI issues such as vomiting, cramps, weird BMs, depression, and many side effects from the methadone, which consequently makes everything else worse, I suspect. Side effect I hate most from methadone: sweaty palms!

I'm still on the hunt for a pain regimen that works.

Had a lung scan last week and I'll see an oncologist about it on Wednesday.


That's about it for now. très intéressant, I know.

New chemo

Navelbine, the current chemo I've been on for the past six weeks, isn't working. Yesterday's blood work shows my tumor marker continued to grow. Dr G has decided to have another scan and change to another chemo.

I will get a CT scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis next week and then likely start Gemzar (gemcitabine) weekly. It's supposed to be as well-tolerated as Navelbine and appears to have similar side effects. such as flu-like symptoms(muscle pain, fever, headache, chills, fatigue); fever (within 6-12 hours of first dose); fatigue; nausea (mild); vomiting; poor appetite, low blood counts and the rather odd side effect of skin rash.

The increase in tumor markers comes as no surprise to me. I'm frustrated that none of these four chemos (Abraxane, Doxil, Adriamycin and Navelbine) have had much impact on my cancer. Well, we don't really know about the Abraxane, because Dr G took me off it after a scan revealed liver mets that we didn't realize existed. Going back on Abraxane remains an option.

Evidently there is another patient with the same disease progression as mine, who has responded well to Gemzar. So I'm hopeful that this one will do the trick -- highly effective, manageable, with minimal side effects.

Meanwhile you can think of me as the Energizer bunny of chemotherapy. I just keep plugging along!

Spankin' accomplished.

Let's review: Last month, my M-spike decided to get a little crazy, and Dr. GPO called me and said the myeloma just needed to be spanked a little bit harder. He gave me the option of upping my Revlimid dose or starting dex. I chose to up my dose of Revlimid to 20 mg to see what would happen.

The results are in, and the M-spike has been spanked. I repeat, the M-spike has been spanked. It went from 3.3 to 2.7.

HAHAHA, M-spike!! You like that?? Do not mess with me, M-spike! I will spank you hard! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

The bad news is that Bon Jovi gets to put a shirt back on:

The Bitch Ponders, Part 4

After dinner one night at the conference, a group of us went to a party in a bar hosted by some literary magazines. I was talking to K, and a guy came up to her, and he looked familiar. I looked at his badge then told him to look at me. He looked and recognized me. It was M, whom I'd thought that I might see at the conference, since I knew he had entered a creative writing program. How odd that sounds--entered. But that is what you do--enter, begin, enroll in, matriculate into. We had been friends, confidants in the newsroom, but we hadn't seen one another since 1985. We both said the other looked the same. He was all hepped up on the notion of story, of story as a basic human need, hard-wired into our bodies, or wherever that hard wire goes. Our DNA, that's where. Then there were three of us--a Coastal poet he'd met on the street--and they were equally exhuberant about story. Everything is story, they said, and I said, no, ideas aren't story, description isn't story, and they said, no, it's all story. M had started a magazine which features the stories of "ordinary people," and other "ordinary people" are hungry, hungry for these stories! He is in love with story, she is in love with story, and I like a good joke now and then, but I think there's reflection and meditation and argument, though I could accept the argument that an argument is a story, because it moves linearly, or should. He was full of zeal for story, and for the character in his newish book, he was like an actor who learns his lines and character so well that he falls in love with them and him and must tell you about them or portray them because he has built so much energy around them. I would have preferred gossiping all night about the people we'd known in the 80s but it was pleasant enough to pal around with this old and this new friend. Oddly, we did not make story out of our friendship. But we could. And so there was one old friend who was still a friend, though I hadn't doubted it. Some friends you just fall away from when one of you leaves town. Despite the miracle of modern technology, etc., etc. And if you are in the same town one night, all the elements that created it are there and the friendship comes back alive.

more small changes, harder than you'd think

I'm still struggling with working on my small changes in 2011.

This is how I've been doing:

Week 1: Weigh in and record my weight every Monday. 

I was late last week but I have been faithfully doing this. I'm down 5lbs since the beginning of the year. Not sure if there is any causal relationship or if this is due to my ongoing (ahem) gastrointestinal issues.

Week 2: Begin doing strength training exercises developed for cancer survivors. Work up to about thirty minutes, three times a week.

I got off track last week. It's hard to do core work when you have weasels chewing on your innards. I need to stop using this as an excuse not to work my arms and legs, though.

Week 3: Drink no more than five alcoholic drinks per week.

The weasels have helped me with this one.

Week 4: Drink more water. My nutrionist recommended drinking as many ounces as half my weight in pounds.

I've certainly been drinking more water, most days. I think half my weight may be an unrealistic goal, leaving me bloated and running to the loo all the time. I think I need to keep the goal but adjust the amount of water I'm expected to consume.

Week 5: Meditate every day. Start at five minutes and work my way up to twenty.

I have not meditated every day but I have at least half a dozen times in the last couple of weeks, which is around half a dozen times more than I ever have in my life. I still have to fight the monkey brain but I've worked my way up to 8 minutes. It's one way to make time slow down.

Week 6: I decided not to add anything to my plate.

Week 7: Always sit down to eat.

You'd think this would be no big deal but just a few minutes ago, I went to get myself a snack and caught myself eating sunflower seeds, while standing in the kitchen and thinking of wriitng this post. Clearly  I need to work on mindful eating.

feeling better

Because I've been able to go out for walks and for runs with the dog.

Because I had a really nice weekend and a very nice Valentine's Day (especially for someone who doesn't really celebrate it).

Because I have so many wonderful people in my life.

Because some of my symptoms have improved considerably (and they most definitely did not improve at all before I was diagnosed with the recurrence of cancer).

Because I have survived experiences that have been far more physically traumatic (like giving birth. Twice) than an endoscopy could possibly be.

I am feeling better today.

Which are the Principal Factors that Cause Mesothelioma?

Mesothelioma is definitely a lot of mostly the result of asbestos vulnerability. Asbestos dust that happen to be inhaled in the teeth plus face could finally develop into inlayed while in the paving of your bronchi, resulting in ruin plus creating mesothelioma lung many forms of cancer and also asbestosis (scar flesh configuration while in the lungs). There are already been determined this taking asbestos dust may possibly develop some sort of mesothelioma while it began with an abdominal area labeled peritoneal mesothelioma.

Mesothelioma cancers commonly effects by work-related subjection although you will discover cases of the environmental experience of asbestos that could lead to mesothelioma sickness. In many cases resale subjection connected with someone close a great asbestos individual grubby do the job apparel could lead to of which friend which has a mesothelioma examination.

Asbestos padding employees seem to achieve the greatest death rate. One research reviews which nearly 6 % associated with asbestos employees drop target in order to mesothelioma or even encounter mesothelioma symptoms as well as asbestos padding employees tend to be more than three hundred occasions prone to pass away through mesothelioma compared to most people.

Neuropathy

Peripheral neuropathy is one of the side effects associated with certain chemotherapies. The toes and fingers feel numb or tingle. I think I'm getting this after two rounds of Navelbine. The tips of my toes feel numb. Other symptoms I'm experiencing include constipation and cramping in my feet.

I plan to report all of these symptoms to Dr G when I see him later this week. Hopefully the neuropathy will remain minimal and then disappear after I discontinue the Navelbine.

Yet one more thing to deal with in CancerLand.....

Surprise! (Sort of.)

WCK had Friday off from school because of teacher meetings. About a month or so ago, Jay and I decided to take her to the Great Wolf Lodge on Thursday night and Friday, but we kept it a complete secret so it would be a big surprise. We last went there a year ago, and WCK had been asking us, pretty much on a daily basis, when we were going to go back again. So we planned the whole trip but did not breathe a word. On Wednesday night, I did tell her that we'd have a big surprise for her after school the next day, but that's all I would say.

"Is it a bunch of pennies?" she asked. "Is it ... a new pair of underwear?"

Wow. We could have saved a ton of money.

I refused to reveal the secret. I imagined her complete shock and surprise when we told her. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have thought that we'd be going to the Great Wolf Lodge! When WCK walked out of school on Thursday and saw that Jay had come with me to pick her up, we were busted.

"We're going to the Great Wolf Lodge, aren't we?" she said.

What? How did she do that? She needs to buy a van so she can drive around solving mysteries.

Excess Iron Linked to Mesothelioma

New studies suggest that overloading the body with iron may be another way asbestos can trigger mesothelioma. And ridding the body of that excess iron may eventually be another way to help manage this cancer.

Malignant mesothelioma is caused by exposure to asbestos, especially crocidolite and amosite asbestos, whose tiny sharp fibers contain high amounts of iron. In recent years, medical researchers have confirmed that chronic inflammation caused by the irritation of asbestos fibers appears to be one of the triggers for mesothelioma. But mounting evidence suggests that the iron in asbestos may also play a role in this aggressive cancer.

While iron is essential for health, numerous epidemiological studies have shown it to be carcinogenic in high amounts. To test the connection between iron and mesothelioma, scientists repeatedly injected iron saccharate into the peritoneal cavity of lab rats. As predicted, many of the rats developed peritoneal mesothelioma.
When these mesothelioma cells were analyzed using an array-based comparative genomic hybridization (aCGH) and gene expression test, they were found to have alterations in a part of the DNA responsible for tumor suppression. The genes, called CDKN2A/2B are responsible for triggering cell production of enzymes that normally help prevent cancer. They also found an overabundance of the glycoprotein uromodulin in the mesothelioma cells. These findings suggest that the presence of excess iron put the cells under oxidative stress.

More And Source : http://www.survivingmesothelioma.com/news/view.asp?ID=001048

20 percent of Mesothelioma Cases Unreported

In a report published Monday, a mesothelioma lawyer in New York said that 20 percent of mesotheliomacases remain unreported.
A recent article in the journal of Environmental Health Perspectives estimated that for every four to five people worldwide who are diagnosed with mesothelioma, at least one case goes unreported. The mesothelioma attorney said even that number undercounts the true death toll of mesothelioma.
In a statement, Joseph W. Belluck said that mesothelioma is a deadly disease that has been underestimated for too long. Mesothelioma is a rare form of cancer, which involves the protective lining that covers several internal body organs such as the pleura, abdomen and the heart. It is commonly caused by excessive exposure to asbestos.
Asbestos, on the other hand, is a naturally occurring mineral that became increasingly popular during the 19th and 20th centuries in a variety of building construction materials for insulation and as a fire-retardant. People who work in industries that mine, make or use asbestos products and those living near these industries commonly develop significant health problems attributed to the exposure.
More and Source : http://www.seedol.com/?p=6932

Mesothelioma risk among power plant workers are high, study says

Mesothelioma was likely to develop among power plant workers who are constantly exposed to large amounts of asbestos, a new study revealed.
Researchers monitored 8,632 power plant workers in Germany who were exposed to asbestos coming from insulation materials used in turbines. Up to 94 percent were exposed for an average duration of 20 to 21 years, the study said.
Asbestos exposure is the main cause of mesothelioma, a rare and deadly type of lung cancer. The substance is used to insulate equipment and wires from the heat generated inside power plants.
Unlike other developed countries, the United States has yet to enforce a complete ban on asbestos despite mounting evidence that it causes many health problems including mesothelioma.
In the study, dust samples taken inside power plants contained chrysotile fibers which are toxic forms of asbestos. When inhaled, the dust causes inflammation which can trigger mesothelioma.

More and Source : http://empowerednews.net/?p=5931

The Bitch Ponders, Part 3

So I talked (immediately, the wonder of cell phones) with an old friend right after The One snubbed me or appeared to snub me. The friend said something to the effect that the erstwhile friend must be screwed up to act that way. I don't know. Sometimes we just want to avoid entanglement.

The next night I dreamed that my friend A from the Miami Herald was part of a case that was being heard by the Supreme Court. I also dreamed that the Erstwhile Friend had indeed kept in touch with me from time to time, sending me photos that I had forgotten about, and that she had a reason for not staying in touch. It had to do with not wanting to live in her past.

When I had lunch with A on Monday, she happened to mention that she'd written to Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor. Hah! Am I gifted with second sight or what?

I had a good friend from junior high who, I am told, wants to keep the past the past. She doesn't look to connect with old friends on Facebook, which would mean connecting beyond cyberspatially. Oddly, her mother is willing to friend her daughter's old friends. Are we baggage? Are we time-stealers? It could be she feels she probably doesn't have much in common with us any more.

This is what you don't understand when you're young: that there are some people who will prove to be your Lifelong Friends; and also that you have a place in family (well, some of us do) and because that place is set by forces beyond you (your conception, for example), it is solid, you can see it, your name, even, on a family tree, and your place and relationship with others are therefore unshakeable and irrevocable. There were those before you and those branching after you, even if they're nieces and nephews and young cousins and not your own offspring. Family can of course turn its back and change its name and walk out on you forever (providing fodder for infinite contemporary memoirs), but much of the time it will be there and family will serve as the Ones Who Knew You When. They will be your Old Friends, whether you like it or not.


Lunch with A was quite natural and wonderful and I had decided, though we hadn't seen one another since 1987 or so, that we would always be Lifelong Friends because we had shared a night when we both thought I was dying (cause: street food in Guatemala City), and a morning where we thought the revolution had come to the street in front of our hotel. We tied white socks around our arms to signify neutrality and ventured outside to find out that the 6 a.m. smell of gunpowder had come from a parade at dawn. At dawn? It could not be a civilized country, because who would hold a parade that early? Or was it Honduras? I should ask.

--to be continued--

when Google is not your friend

So I've been having some (ahem) gastrointestinal issues for a while. Last spring, I was diagnosed with GERD. Things got better after I made some amendments to my diet and started taking meds (so much better that I got lazy about the diet and just took the meds). But now the issues are back in spades, along with abdominal discomfort and a feeling I can only discribe as "weasels chewing on my innards."

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see my GP who doubled my dose of the meds, ordered some blood tests and other (ahem) samples and put in a referral to a gastroenterologist. She told me that it would likely be a six month wait.

I had chemo on Tuesday, February 1st, which means I should have been feeling more or less like myself on the week end. I did not. By Saturday, I was still achy, weak, nauseated and the stomach weasels were out in full force. On Sunday, I felt no better.

On Monday, I went back to my doctor. 

She examined me and, to my enormous relief, reassured me that my liver is where it should be (not swollen and tender like it was when I was diagnosed with liver metastasis. She also said that I should  take comfort from the fact that my blood counts, taken less than a week before had shown all my liver functions to be perfectly normal.

We discussed the possibility of me having contracted a parasite or a virus (I certainly know enough people who've been ill, including my two kids. My suppressed immune system - from the chemo - makes me susceptible to every passing illness) or that anxiety could be playing a role in my physical condition.

My doc is a great advocate, though, and she picked up the phone while I was still with her and left a message for the gastroenterologist, asking if I could be seen more quickly.

I left her office feeling almost euphoric, with all health related anxiety pushed to the back of my mind (there was enough other anxiety to take up all the space in the forefront).

Then yesterday, I got a call from my doc's office, telling me that I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist - and an endoscopy - scheduled for February 17. That's really soon.

I've heard that endoscopies can be really traumatic experiences, so I Googled "endoscopy" just to reassure myself (seriously, that's what I told myself).

Well, not only do I not feel reassured (they shove a camera down your throat to look at your innards! I have a very strong gag reflex) but I am now freaking out about the test and about exactly what it is they might find down there. It could be nothing. Could be something relatively benign. Or it could be...well I'm trying not to think about it.

I haven't been for a run in more than a week because of chemo and the (ahem) gastrointestinal issues. But I think I might risk it.

The Bitch Ponders, Part 2

[Samuel Johnson, 18th century]

To continue the post before the one before this one:

I also thought that at the conference I might see M, who I worked with at the Miami Herald, he was my friend and neighbor (as in don't talk to your neighbor, schoolteachers would say; he was in the desk behind me, I think) and confidant. I knew he was getting an MFA in creative nonfiction.

So I am at the conference. I am invited to the cocktail party put on by ** University, where The One received her master's recently. Before I go, I'm standing in mezzanine level of the hotel and looking down and I think I recognize her in the lobby.

At the cocktail party. There she is. She is at the buffet and I am at the buffet and she is talking to someone and we are this far apart--but she is talking to someone and I say nothing.

Then I am talking to the person I came to see at the party. We talk for quite a while. Then we part and I am at the cocktail party saying hello to a young writer I know from a Jewish women's reading we did together. Then I am in the next room and I see The One and she is talking to a man in a dark suit. Next time I turn around to approach they are still talking but they have moved about three feet away. And the next time, three more feet. I am defeated. I do not want to pursue. It seems too difficult, psychologically, to trail them and insert myself inside their conversation. And then the next time I look, they're gone.

I am so agitated. I am so so sad. I am 90 percent sure that she saw me. I talk to an old friend from those days who says it is sad that The One cannot forgive me, that she is still holding on to that anger. That she should move on beyond that. I go downstairs to catch up with people I'm eating dinner with and I'm still sad and I tell them and slowly during dinner the sadness and agitation dissipate.

I still don't know if I'm thinking about The One and making the Sighting so important because she has rejected me. I remember a friend who broke up with his girlfriend then wrote her letter upon letter, and I thought it was way way too much, that he was besieging her, but then he went back to visit her and they are now married 15 or more years with two smiling children. I thought his pursuit was extreme, but I was wrong.

What am I so eager to talk about with her? What am I so anxious to discuss? I want to talk about the teenagers we were when we were starting college, and I want to know if journalism was ever as difficult for her as it was for me (crying in sheer anxiety before interviews), what she's learned in the years that she pursued that profession while I pursued style and "self-expression," why she decided to study "creative writing" and what she learned that was different from her everyday. My everyday is taken up with the study of the masters of the essay, and the current practitioners, and reading that I will use in my own work that I struggle to find a structure for. Only an idiot would ever write for free, but we, my brethren in the creative writing world, do it all the time. (As Samuel Johnson put it, No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.) We are innovators and thinkers and we are trying to convey meaning shaped in pieces that will last quite a while if not forever, but these pieces are not valued enough, and so though no one crosses our palms with silver, we offer our carefully-honed work to magazines that serve a thousand or five hundred or fifteen hundred. We write these things because we have to and how odd odd odd it is that someone who is making a living at journalism would choose to study how to write more exquisitely and for a much smaller audience.

Or maybe she is wanting to write books, and for a large audience.

--to be continued--

Healthy Spirits: The New Stuff

1. Dugges& Porertbryggeriet 1/2 Idjit! Imperial Porter

2. Stillwater Existent Black Saison

3. Hantverksbryggeriet Kosacken Imperial Stout

4. Cascade Kriek (2009)

5. Lakefront New Grist (Gluten Free)

6. Red Branch Hard Black Cherry Cider

7. Red Branch Apple + Honey Cider

cheers,

dave hauslein
beer manager
415-255-0610

Happy birthday to Bob!

Bob is six years old today and does he love his new chew. He ate it all. (It was supposed to last for a couple of days....)

the dog ate it

My 12 year old has been asking for a Blu-Ray player. 

We've informed him, many times, that given our current need for fiscal restraint, this kind of luxury is not in the cards, for the time being.

This morning, he and I were cuddling with the dog and talking about how much we love her. S. asked about her ongoing skin issues and when she's going to start her latest hypoallergenic diet. 

Me: "When the new food arrives at the vet."

S.: "Poor Lucy."

Me (sensing a "teachable moment"): "We had another big vet bill this week. Enough to pay for several Blu-Ray players."

S.: "Really?"

Me: "Yup. She's not the reason that finances are tight but she's one of our priorities. We love her and we have a responsibility to take care of her. The food, medicine and tests - it all adds up."

S. (grinning affectionately at Lucy): "So the dog ate my Blu-Ray."

He's a good kid.

No no, don't go for the nodes

We interrupt Cancer Bitch's complaining about a lost friend to deliver the strange news about the necessity of removing lymph nodes. Apparently surgeons don't need to take them out as often as they've been doing. The Journal of the American Medical Association reports on a study of women with invasive breast cancer who had lumpectomies, radiation and sentinel node biopsies. That means that the lymph node closest to the cancer tumor was removed and examined. Usually doctors have responded to a cancerous node by removing more nodes. The new study shows that women who had a cancerous sentinel node removed only, but no other lymph nodes, had the same survival rate as women who had the same treatment (lumpectomy, radiation) and had 10 or more more lymph nodes removed. The problem with removing multiple nodes is that they increase your risk of lymphedema, which is swelling of the arm. Women with lymphedema are the ones wearing those compression sleeves (and people say they're a drag to wear, even if you cover them with cool designs from My Sassy Sleeve, shown above.)

The New England Journal of Medicine reported on a similar study last month. The American Council on Science and Health noted that the New York Times didn't report on the earlier study. This new report, says the ACSH's Dr. Gilbert Ross, makes it apparent that we have at least two strong studies that show pretty clearly that for certain populations of women with small breast cancers, the survival benefit from radical lymph node removal is outweighed by lymphedema and other complications.

So, Woodman, spare that tree!

New Arrivals: Victory at Sea, Hoptimum, Mikkeller 1000 IBU and more!

Hey Friends,

Got some killer stuff in today! Check out whats on the shelves:

-Ballast Point Victory at Sea
-Mikkeller Big Worse Bourbon Barrel Barleywine
-Mikkeller 1000 IBU
-Sierra Nevada Hoptimum
-Russian River Sanctification
-Fish Brewing Reel Ale Barleywine 10 squared
-Achel Blonde
-Spezial Rauchbier
-Bruery Orchard White
-Bruery Saison Rue
-Bruery Mischief
-Bruery Saison de Lente
-Bruery Rugbrod

Come and get it!

Nate

Dunava retreat

Dunava spent this past weekend singing, eating and bonding at our second annual retreat at Mildred's B&B on Seattle's Capitol Hill. We rented the whole house for 24 hours.

Some of us gathered in the morning at Molly Moon's's to celebrate International Ice Cream for Breakfast Day. I loved my buttermilk waffle, which I topped with one small scoop of salted caramel and one small scoop of coffee, chocolate chunks, a little hot fudge sauce, some vanilla bean caramel, walnuts, and berries. It was great with a cup of black coffee. (Rik had oatmeal with maple walnut ice cream.)

Dunava gathered at noon and launched into four hours of intense singing. We snacked while reviewing our recent new songs, learned one new piece, and started on another. By 5 PM we were ready to dance our way around the house. Our potluck dinner featured potato-corn-kale soup, eggplant lasagna, marinated mushrooms, cooked red cabbage, green salad, mulled wine, "fauxstess" cupcakes, white gingerbread, and more.

After dinner we found ourselves loudly singing Girl Scout and summer camp songs like Miss Mary Mack, The other day I met a bear, etc. (I think the mulled wine helped.) It was a real reach back into my childhood. Luckily I think I remember every song I have ever learned. Then we played some very silly games and watched Mary Poppins and sang along while eating popcorn. I think we went to bed around 1:30 AM.


In the morning our hostess prepared a fantastic breakfast of mushroom/asparagus crustless quiche, fresh fruit, coffeecake, orange juice and coffee and tea. We gathered once more around the piano to review some music and departed around noon, sated with good food, lively music, and some particularly good girl bonding.

Counts down

My blood counts were again slightly down after last week's dose of Navelbine, so on Tuesday I had a shot of Neulasta to bring up my white cell count. So far I continue to have a fair amount of energy. Today I walked Bobka the dog for almost the full two mile long walk (cut short by only two blocks). Not to mention the afternoon's jaunt along West Seattle Junction. And tonight's synagogue meeting and choir rehearsal.

This week I have yet to experience side effects from either the chemo or the Neulasta. The word remains out on how effective this chemo is; more on that next week. Please continue to keep your collective "fingers" crossed for highly effective, very tolerable and minimal side effects.

West Seattle

I wandered around West Seattle today. The sun shone brightly as my friend L and I browsed our way along California Avenue SW (The Junction). We stopped in at a couple of furniture stores, Menashe and Sons Jewelers, Twilight Artist Collective, and Edie's Shoes. At the Antique Mall I found two tiny glass salt spoons to complete my salt cellar collection. We ate pho for lunch at Than Brothers and enjoyed dessert and coffee/tea at Bakery Nouveau. All in all, a most lovely and delightful afternoon! Next week's outing might feature IKEA.

The B-Word

The other day, I had cafeteria duty at WCK's school. When you're the parent assigned to cafeteria duty, you help the kids open their pudding cups and ketchup packets, and then you mostly just stand around to make sure nobody throws Tator Tots or burns down the building. So there I was, watching for Tator Tots, keeping myself on high alert for a pudding-cup emergency, when some kindergartners waved me over to their table.

"So-and-so said the B-Word!" one of them informed me.

I had absolutely no idea how to respond to this, but before I could, another kindergartner chimed in.

"What's the B-Word?" he asked.

"Um," I said, "I, um, don't know."

I was trying to convey complete innocence. Is there a bad word that starts with B? I've never heard of one. Nope. Not a one.

"I know what it is!" exclaimed kindergartner #3, and my heart nearly stopped. "It's B-U-T-T!!"

Oh. That B-Word. That's one I can handle. That word comes up about 5,000 times a day at our house, because WCK thinks the word "butt" is hilarious. And, believe it or not, "butt" has worked to my advantage. She used to delay going to bed because she said she was "scared of monsters." Finally, I told her that if a monster ever tried to get into our house, I would kick it in the butt. Yes, I said "butt" out loud. Apparently, this was the most hilarious thing ever to come out of my mouth. No more fear of monsters.

One day, though, WCK was going a little crazy with the B-Word, and I told her to please stop saying the word "butt".

She smiled and said, "BUT ... I love you!"

Here's how bad the last blizzard was ...

Navelbine #4

I had my fourth dose of Navelbine today (the second dose in the second round). My friend R visited the whole time and because things took a bit longer, we had a lovely catch-up with each other.

I felt fine enough afterwards to go to the grocery store, come home and start a pot of lentil soup before I crashed and took a nap.

Dr G wants me to get Neulasta tomorrow since my white blood cell counts and hematocit were a bit down. That will mean four trips to Capitol Hill this week, three of them for cancer-related reasons. Thankfully this chemo has so far been remarkably tolerable, with minimal side effects, and allows me to drive and generally live a normal life. The jury is out on how effective it will be but I am still hopeful that it will kick some serious cancer butt. I get my next tumor marker drawn next week.

Healthy Spirits: Super Bowl

We are open from 10am to 9pm tonight for your Super Bowl party needs. Go sports team!