Getting ready for the art retreat.....

Our Hawaiian Art Retreat begins tomorrow, so today we are getting our yummy local fruit.

At the Saturday market an artist by the name

of Sammi sells his handmade bone carvings.

They are so beautiful and full of deep meaning.

Of course, Gail, Patricia and I each had to purchase one.

Tomorrow we will be driving into Waikiki to pick up the ladies. These retreats are so much fun. I will be posting photos, so be sure to check back. Aloha for now.

Hawaiian Jack o Lanterns

How creative is this!

Coconuts painted as Jack o Lanterns!

Ahhh.....Hawaii!

Chemo Day 12

For the last treatment there had to be a bit of excitement. My port didn't work again. I had to have blood drawn from my arm. They ran out of the normal needle gauge size. One of my four drugs was pulled from my regimen. We set off the patient alert alarm throughout the center and we forgot a bottle opener. But all in all, the final chemo session was as fun as a chemo session can be - if that makes any sense.

Both my mom and Craig were there with me for this momentous occasion. God willing, the last time I will ever have to sit in the chemo recliner. In fact, I don't know that I'll ever look at faux leather recliners the same ever again. I think they'll always remind me of long hours spent with my feet up waiting for the drugs to drip.

I think all three of us were a little bit loopy with excitement - so ready to celebrate that this routine was over, but also careful that not everyone in the cancer center was celebrating, knowing that for some, that day may have been just the beginning of their journey and I could only hope that it'd be as successful as mine. But we managed to celebrate on the sly, sort of.

I brought in Funfetti cupcakes for my life-saving team and made them all pose for pictures with me, much to their chagrin, I think. It's probably not a request that comes often, but I never want to forget the faces of the people that saved my life and made this hell a hell of a lot easier to bear.

We had an emotional meeting with Dr. Dailey. I got myself a little paclemped trying to thank him for all that he has done to keep me sane and healthy. We talked about next steps and follow-ups and scans - though that's all a little surreal. Because I have had a

persistent cough throughout much of these past few months and had just come off the bad cold I had been fighting, Dr. Dailey thought it best to omit the Bleomycin from my last chemo treatment. So instead, I got a three-liquor cocktail: AVD for my send-off. This is because of the concerns of pulmonary toxicity that can arise from the harsh drug. Its effects could leave me with long-term lung damage. He said he was 5% concerned that the bleo could have negative long-term effects and 0% concerned that omitting it would have any negative outcome on the effectiveness of my treatment course. I was sold. Plus, that shaved a half-hour off of the process!

Luckily, the three of us secured a private room as I think we would have been a bit too rowdy for the common areas. My wonderful nurse Diane came in to "poke my port" one last time.

"Ready. Pinch," she said. The usual routine. It hurt a bit but the needle was in.

"We're out of the small needles so I had to give you a 19-gauger," she said.

"Glad you told me that afterward," I replied. Very smart woman she is.

Big needle or not, my port was not coughing up any blood again. Drawing blood is a necessity of the process and my port just wasn't putting out. That meant a stick in the arm - sigh. For all I went through with fighting to get the port it was a bit frustrating that I'd still have to get stuck, but I was just grateful that it was working well enough to take in the drugs. I can't wait to get that sucker out of my body.

So my buddy Denise came in to do the dirty work. She gave me a stress ball to squeeze and left me with a Sharpie-drawn smiley face on my gauze strip which made me laugh like a doofy little kid. As I've said throughout this, it's the little things like that that really make all the difference. For the rest of the time as the chemo started flowing my smile was as wide as the one on my arm.

Craig, my mom and I talked and joked and reminisced a bit about the crazy ride it's been. Then suddenly this strange beeping noise starts eminating through the center. No one is sure what it is. Then Craig realizes he'd been leaning on the "Pull For Help" button. Apparently no one has ever pulled it because no one knew what the sound was for a good few minutes. Then all came rushing in and had a good laugh over it - Diane saying that was the most fun she had had all day.

We pulled over a table and played Scrabble SLAM - a new favorite game. Especially good for the chemo brained as it only deals with four-letter words - nothing too fancy. We threw out cards and yelled out words as Jack Johnson played in the background and the time passed. I sucked on my ice cubes during the push drugs and snacked on healthy treats to keep my nausea down.

I had just a few ounces left in the Decarbazine bag but could not hold my bladder any longer. I was so afraid that the "end-of-bag alarm" would ding while I was in the bathroom and I wouldn't get to celebrate with everyone. It was a race to the finish, but I made it back to my chemo room to hear those final beautiful, mechanical notes.

At that, it was time to pop the sparkling apple cider that we had brought. But

who knew it would be a pop top? Craig tried desperately to pry it open to no avail. Then once again, Diane to the rescue with a bottle opener from the back room --- for the tough days.

We cheerzed as Diane removed the needle from my port one last time and I was flooded with a rush of freedom. Thank God Almighty, Free at last!

I got all unhooked, said my goodbyes, and left without tears headed for a delicious post-chemo Bertuccis lunch. I don't think it all will hit me until a few months from now when the dust settles and the smoke clears and I can really look back and realize what happened to me and to every

one around me.

Until then, I'm just focused on getting better. That means more Neupogen shots. More scans. More bloodwork. A port removal surgery. I'll be working on piecing myself back together one step at a time.

Hawaii

Ahhhhh...........

From espadrilles to flip flops......

I'm back from France and fly off to Hawaii on Thursday.

Gail Lackey and I have a retreat beginning on November 1st so there's lots to get ready.

Anyone want to join us? We have 2 spaces available.

It's pretty fabulous, I promise. :)

Last-Chemo-Day Eve

You know that giddy feeling you got as a kid on Christmas Eve? The unsettled one that's burrowed deep in your belly? That's what I've got going on right now. It's the eve of my last chemo infusion - number 12.

I'm excited about it all being over. I'm nervous that it's not over forever. I'm anxious that something will go wrong and anxious about how my mind will react when this routine of doc appointments and pill popping is suddenly ripped away. I'm even a little bit sad to not being seeing my cancer center buddies multiple times a week. There's a lot of turmoil going on in my belly.

I've been what some may call manically happy over the past couple of days. I've found a long-lost bounce in my step - was even doing distance trials sliding across the wood floors in my socks while brushing my teeth last night and doing a whole lot of singing in the car. I cried a lot on my drive home from work today. Not because I was sad or afraid, but because I was (and am) so happy about life. The striking colors of the trees' leaves against the wispy white clouds and the deep orange October sun took my breath away. I felt so happy to be alive and to know that I'm going to keep on living and get to see this beauty every single day. I blared my favorite Rent songs until the car speakers shook, rolled down all the windows, cranked up my seat heater, and belted out every word as hot tears poured down my cool cheeks. I felt so full of life that it was truly overwhelming.

Part of me can't believe that I made it here; I never thought the day would actually come when I'd be crying out of pure, unadulterated joy rather than heart-wrenching pain. Another part of me feels like this has all gone by so fast and can't even remember the bad times. It's been the longest and shortest six months of my life all at once. And tomorrow I'm going to take that prize that I've kept my eye focused on all along - closing out the "dirty dozen" as one wise and witty co-worker phrased it.

I tried to recall how I felt the night before my first chemo treatment but remembered that I didn't have a "night before." It all happened very quickly. When the extent of my cancer was determined and the decision made that waiting for fertility procedures would be to risk my life, I was sent in to chemo that day. I had no time to prepare, no time to think. I was told to drink a lot of water as it'd be a good idea to be hydrated and that was that. Oh, how little I knew.

Now with 11 infusions under my belt I go in tomorrow as an expert in something that I never wanted to be an expert in. Unfortunately being an expert in the process also means that I'm an expert in the effects of the process. One last time I again have the aches, pains and uneasiness to look forward to, but the key words are "one. last. time."

Ahhh.....Paris!! Oh La La!

There is nothing like the sights and sounds of Paris.

Everywhere I turn I see incredible beauty.

What an inspiring city of lights.....

You Can't Always Get What You Want

But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need ...

Six months into this I'm still not sure what it is that I need, but I'm continuing to try and figure it all out. Right now, I'm still trying to come to terms with the first part of the lyric.

Today I was supposed to be at the UConn football homecoming game eating grilled sausage dogs off dirty coleman grills, drinking Octoberfest beers in a coozie shaped like a jersey and circulating the tailgating crowd to bump into friends from all different groups. Tomorrow I am supposed to be at the Patriots Football stadium doing it all over again - pro style. Instead, I am home with a head full of phlegm, a garbage basket full of yellowed tissues and a cough that just won't quit. Plus, the usual painful colorectal fabulousness that comes at this point in the chemo cycle. Yes, I am bitter.

I can no longer burn the candle on both ends like I used to. I guess one thing I have learned is that my body takes more precedence than I ever thought it did. My desires are mere dust in the wind when up against the demands of my bodily functions. I knew that being out in the cold for several hours was not the anecdote to getting myself past this virus. The last thing that I need to do is set myself back and not be well enough for my final chemo treatment - I think that if I hear the words "we can't treat you today" on Wednesday I may launch into a screaming fit - two-year-old tantrum style. So I made the responsible decision - not without much whining and even some tears as Craig left the house this morning for the game.

You'd think that I'd treasure time for personal growth and introspection - a good excuse to lay on the couch, curl up and watch a movie. Well, I hate it now. I've had more alone time than I can take. I want to be out in the world galavanting so, so badly. I feel like I've missed so many barbecues this summer, so many Octoberfests, so many chances to hike, to run, to travel to see friends.

Instead, I feel like "Bubble Boy" constantly worrying about getting sicker, catching some weird bug, eating raw meat that will send me to the hospital. As much as I love our home, sometimes it can feel like a prison. It's one thing to be tucked away for a weekend with a cold. Admit it, most of us secretly like getting a little sick because it gives you an excuse to just veg, read those books that you've had stacked up, catch up on DVRed shows. But when you've felt like shit for six months that guilty pleasure you experience is lonnnnnnngggggg worn off.

I know that someday when we have four kids, I own my own consulting business and the book deals are pouring in I'll be aching for alone time. But isn't that always how it goes? You don't know what you've got until it's gone, right?

So today I'm trying to focus my brain and take advantage of this time together with just me and me - plus the Kleenex and the germ-X. I'm headed out to get Craig's father's guitar strung and try to teach myself to play. I have some canvases to paint for our bedroom wall. I have LOTS of books to read and I'd like to try a bubble bath - I've never taken one in our house.

First, a walk with Sammy to get the creative juices flowing then to CVS for another box of Sudafed ... maybe a little shoe shopping and a Starbucks Pumpkin Spice lattee along the way ... maybe it's not so bad after all. There'll be more UConn football games, but never another chance to get myself back to peak health to give my body the best chance at standing up to this final shot of ABVD. What fun is drinking OJ at a tailgate anyway?

Our last castle stay.......