Cycle 1AT: Just call me Scabbers

When your mom offers to come up to take care of you, and you accept, you know it's bad.  This is definitely kicking my ass.  Much worse than the side effects I had from initial chemo (which was fatigue, mostly).

Maybe I'm just a wuss.  Today there's hope that things have peaked and are now receding.  The rash is still developing  along my jaw and onto my neck, but it seems to be coming to a head on my head and by Friday I might be able to rest on a pillow.  Hopeful, as long as I don't get an infection, which is possible since it's Day 7 since receiving Alimta, and my blood counts are probably headed downhill.

Think of all the things you take for granted, like eating, blowing your nose, making facial expressions.  Now imagine that every time you even think of doing any of those things, your face erupts into…well, you get the picture.  I have a whole new respect for my face, imperfect as it may be.  That it functions is what's important, and to be cherished.  I look forward to someday being able to blow my nose again.  Heck, I look forward to being able to go to the grocery store and not scaring the checkers.

I wish I could be 5 again, holed up at my grandmother's house in the mountains with books and a gurgling stream outside.  Those were some of the happiest days of my life, lived in almost complete silence.  I can't recall any greater peace, contentment, and security than those brief childhood years with Mama.  Thanks to her, books are welcome and trusted companions.  Keeping me company during this rough patch:

I haven't started Murakami yet but will in the next two days.  I'd wanted to read the stories first but it's not at the Alameda Library.  Everything else is out practically until the end of summer.  TV can't seem to hold my attention, and movies….Maybe when my mom arrives I'll put on The Painted Veil.

It's always nice to have mom's cooking when you're ill—-that's how I feel, anyway.  I just can't replicate her cooking, no matter how simple the dish.  I might just make the effort to buy a new barbecue while she's here, so we can have kabobs.  Wow, I can't wait.  This is a luxury.  She'll get up and walk the beach in the mornings.  When she returns she'll make me eat an egg.  All I have to do is keep her from crying.  Maybe when I feel better, she'll let me drag her to the Vivienne Westwood exhibit.

This definitely changes one's outlook on spending the last days with your parents.

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3 thoughts on “Cycle 1AT: Just call me Scabbers

  1. I love ya scabbers. You need to rent death to smoochie. I hope the worst is over soon so we can go back to being shut ins due to lack of ambition or willingness to face the real world. No one makes your tea just the way you like it like mom.

  2. oohhhh…..wish i could something for you, as do many, i'm sure. at least you have your mom there with you. what does she cook the best? what is one of your favorite dishes of hers? i think if my mom were cooking, i'd end up doing most of the work since she usually burns everything! so feel lucky for your mom!
    and, yes, work towards vivienne westwood. what a fun exhibit! you can get all done up (tons of foundation can seem ironic but you can do it to cover the rashes) and put a turban on or something. be some new york heiress for the afternoon….hahahaha.

  3. thanks Greg, you cheered me right up. I could do with some of that old-fashioned Max Factor pancake makeup, like they used on the Star Trek tv series. Thick! And yes, I do have a turban, and I will probably have to use it due to a burning scalp. Unfortunately, I am no longer skinny enough to pass as any kind of heiress. Oh well, I'll dig out something vintage from the 80's (yes, that was 20 years ago!) and make it a fun excursion anyway.Mom cooks all those strange, regional Filipino dishes that we don't serve to non-filipinos—dishes that contain eggplants, bitter melon, long beans…and maybe something requiring liver or fish heads in ginger and vinegar. You like asian food so you would probably like it, actually, but I'd venture to say it's an acquired taste, like haggis or chitlins or deep-fried twinkies. I think this just turned into my next post. Thanks! (As usual you have a way of drawing out one's critical (?) thinking just when one least expects it, by the cunning use of good questions. You really would be a brilliant lit prof!)

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