It's A Mystery

It's A Mystery

What is the old saying? Which came first? 

The chicken...No the egg....No the chicken...No the egg.

It's A Mystery

8x6 oil on canvas panel.

$50

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One Green Stem

One Green Stem

Eggs again. I am having a little more fun with it. they have soft edges

and bright spots and everything in between. The cherry.... just icing on the cake.

5x7 oil painting on canvas panel

$50

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Unlikely Pair

Unlikely Pair

I continue my trek on painting eggs. I love the shape and texture and 

will put them with just about anything.

7x5 acrylic on canvas panel

$50

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Shining Through

Shining Through

I don't even know why I painted this but I do like it.

The greens are so nice.

7x5 oil on panel board

$50

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Pulling Away

Pulling Away

One pear and Two Pair. Ha!

8x10 oil on deep boxed wood

$98

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I Am Not The Easter Bunny

I Am Not The Easter Bunny

This is a little bunny that I have had for a very long time.

The egg added well....Just to add an egg.

Together wah lah...

5x7 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Faded Roses

Faded Roses

Sometimes roses only get better. I love those shriveled ones which have dried

out. The faint fragrance still lingers. It is one of the wonderful things which God has given us.

Along with the smell of a puppy's breath, and children's hugs. Life really is wonderful.

8x10 oil on gallery wrapped canvas.

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A Rare Pair

A Rare Pair

Just painting. That is what I often do. Sometimes I plan and ponder but

sometimes I just paint whatever. This is a whatever.

7x5 oil on panel board

$50

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Patty Cake Baker Man

Patty Cake Baker Man

Patty cake patty cake baker man, bake me a cake just as

fast as you can. Anyone remember that rhyme. I am old aren't I?

7x5 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Hurt

Years ago, I ran into another cancer patient over a clearance rack at a Marshall's store. She said to me that her chemo "hurt." At the time, being newly diagnosed and still feeling invincible, I didn't understand what she meant. I saw chemo as a necessary means to an end, something that all patients had to endure to get to a cure. I didn't think of it as hurting, only as healing.

But she was right. Chemo does hurt. It hurts very, very badly sometimes, like right now. It's four days after my latest infusion and I feel as if that bully child with the metal bat is back at me. He's hit me repeatedly across the back, in my jaw, and then jammed the bat down my throat causing swelling sores and rawness. Every tissue in these areas is swollen and emanating ache. I feel as if I'm swallowing over a bed of rocks.

The hurt can come out of nowhere – no warning, no sympathy, no prisoners. How is anyone supposed to deal with this balance of hurt vs. healing? Why should there have to be so much hurt in a situation already saturated with pain of all kinds. The need for further developments in cancer treatment is so dire. The side effects of the treatment should not be worse than those of the disease. It is counterintuitive and unfair. Our world is far too advanced for this dichotomy to still be a reality.

Angel Bear

Angel Bear

Another bear I received as a gift from my mom.

I really like her a lot. Couldn't resist painting her.

7x5 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Big Bottom

Big bottom

Oh! I must be careful how I say this.... Wouldn't want to offend

anyone right?

7x5 gallery panel 2"sides

$50

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Looking Back

Looking Back

This twisted pepper just seemed to be looking back.

Peppers do come in the strangest shapes don't they?

5x7 on panel board

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Vinblastine Treatment 4

I'm feeling decent, though the Vinblastine single-agent chemotherapy that I'm on is pretty tough. The primary side effects have been fatigue, deep tissue aches, jaw pain and tightness, and neutropenia (very low white blood cell count/immunity). The drug is given through a short syringe my nurse injects into my port by push after my anti-nausea and steroid premeds are run. It’s incredible what affect such an innocent looking amount of medicine can do. I can’t let the dosage fool me; it packs a punch!

Scaling the wall 

The Vinblastine has done a number on my white blood cell count. The plan was to get weekly infusions, but my bone marrow has said otherwise. To give it some credit, I have been very heavily treated and my marrow is quite compromised. I’m proud to see that it has still been able to produce blood cells at all – for this I am grateful. I’ve never been unable to rise back to normal blood count levels with time or drug assistace.

To remain safe, my WBC count has to be at least 1,000 in order to receive treatment. It hasn't been able to stabilize quickly enough to endure the original, aggressive weekly plan, so I've been more on an biweekly treatment basis. My counts were too low to get treated last Wednesday (ANC 0.6), which is why I felt pretty good last week and this past weekend without the chemo effects. In fact, I felt good enough for a day of indoor rock climbing with Craig. It was our first time and something we both loved. I especially loved the sweet reward of getting to the top and the mental challenge it took to figure out how to get there. I had no problems beyond any normal climbing fatigue and a few battle bruises endured from banging my knees into the wall. It was an exhilarating, rewarding and gratifying experience. There will be more of these types of adventures to come for me in 2012.  

But back to treatment … . On the off-weeks, though I haven’t been getting infusions, I do receive Neupogen shots to stimulate my bone marrow and get me back into the safety zone. These are very tough on my body – something that is new since transplant. It's been explained to me that the medicine may cause more pain now because my new immune system may be more sensitive to it. The days following these shots have been utterly debilitating! The bone pain is horrendous – from the large bones of my hips and back to the smallest bones in my head and jaw. Dr. Dailey and I are going to try to avoid the shots this week, rather than giving them to try to force the possibility of another treatment next week. The hope is that my counts will recover on their own with a week off and we’ll just be satisfied with that schedule. Unless I drop below 0.5, I’ll escape the injection. Yesterday was my fourth Vinblastine infusion. One more is scheduled for two weeks from yesterday. Then we check in and see whatsa happening.  

A rash flare on my ankle/foot - GVHD?

The Graft vs Host Disease of my mouth continues, as do the steroid rinses, which keep it at bay so that it's really not bothersome, just strange and kinda gross. There has also been a new, exciting development – I've been developing rashes and welts on my skin. A rush visit to my transplant doctor last week revealed it's likely that this is a manifestation of GVHD as well. He did a skin biopsy on which I am awaiting results to find out if it is an auto-immune attack process happening. If it is, then that means it is likely my sister's immune system is also going after the lymphoma and hopefully giving me the desired Graft vs Lymphoma effect, which I went through the whole allo transplant process to achieve. 

Next big marker is a PET/CT Scan on Feb. 10. If it is looking clear then we likely will do nothing - fantastic, fantastic and hopeful news! I will come off my current chemo and we'll let my donor immune system continue to do its work. My doctors and I hope that we've been working the brakes and the gas correctly by balancing immune suppressing/lymphoma eradicating chemotherapy with increased action of my new immune system. The whole idea is to stay ahead of the lymphoma so that my new immune system has the chance to be able to catch up with and go after it.

If there is some disease reduction, but still some lymphoma present, then we may go forward with the Donor Lymphocyte Infusion of some more of my sister's cells. However, we'll have to weigh what the status of my GVHD is at that time as more of her lymphocytes might push me too far into the danger zone of severe or fatal Graft vs Host Disease manifestation.

Severe flare with welts on my hip flexor/stomach area

We are trying to avoid systematic steroid therapy and all of the side effects and long-term damage that can cause, and instead going for more targeted steroid therapy. In addition to the Dexamethasone mouth rinses, I now use a topical steroid cream for when rashes and hives enflame anywhere on my body, which has been happening about once a day now. These are totally manageable and treatable side effects, effects I am grateful to live with, especially knowing these they are likely a sign that I am moving closer to a cure.

Life outside of treatment has been pretty wonderful lately. I think that the dark cloud I was in has moved past. Cancer is really only a small piece of my life right now. I have so much more to write about and look forward to telling stories of my adventures outside of all of this – more entertaining writing to come this week! It can be difficult to rehash the realities, fears and goings on of my current therapies and cancer patient status. This is why much time has lapsed between posts lately. I often want to do anything but talk or write about what I’m going through. But, then I realize the importance of doing so in order to keep a log for myself, for those that love me and worry about me, and for all those other patients out there trying to navigate this crazy cancer world. This is bigger than myself and my own avoidance and laziness. So like it or not, I’ll keep the boring treatment update blogs coming – interspersed with some more fun and (hopefully) insightful posts as well.

I See Myself

I See Myself

I wanted to paint an egg because usually I struggle with them.

 I have even been thinking of painting a series of eggs just because.

We will see but for now it is just a thought because I only have

one egg in the fridge. Maybe I will buy some more soon.

7x5 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Label Still On

Label Still On

One outstanding thing about this pear is that little blue label.

As I painted this pear I really tried to simplify yet maintain the beauty

of the label.

7x5 oil on canvas panel

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Out Of Season

Out of Season

This beautiful pumpkin photo just begged me to paint it. I did

my best to capture its luscious colors. The oranges and yellows screamed I am

beautiful Paint me, so Here it is.

5x7 oil on panel board.

$50

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Listen To Me

Listen To Me

This reminded me of a mother giving instruction to her children.

I painted this for the challenge at

www.paintanddrawtogether.blogspot.com

Of course I changed it a little which is not always a good thing but

then sometimes it is. I did stay a little messy with the leaves or I guess I

should say loose instead of messy. Oh well! I do kinda like the end

result. If you go to paintanddraw you can see all of the entries.

5x7 oil on canvas panel

I Said It Is Red

I Said It Is Red

I just attended a workshop In Birmingham at Alabama Art Supply. The

artist was Amy P Collins

I had such fun. This is a 5x7 oil on panel board.

Love the juicy red of the pear. It really is bright and delicious. She had us paint the

panels black before painting. Loved it.

$50

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A Few For You

A Few For You

Some home grown veggies. Do you eat yours daily or is junk food

your forte. 6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Seriously

Seriously

This little tiger is intent on something. I don't know what but thought

he would be cute to paint. Reference from Wet Canvas.

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Sitting Pretty

Sitting Pretty

This little lemon just may show up anywhere and would

you believe it is the same one that always ends up alone. Alone is good sometimes

right?

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$65

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Two Or Three

Two Or Three

I found these bowls at TJ Maxx

I also purchased these about a year ago. I couldn't resist the

lemons once again. Maybe they will dry up before long and force me to use

them and I will move on to something else.

6x8 oil painting on canvas panel

$50

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New Online Class...Creating The Art of Balance!

I am offering a new online series at A for Artistic online site.  The first class in the series, beginning Feb 14th, will be on sculpting and painting a character head, face and hands.

 

The next part of the series, beginning March 13th will be creating a character that I call "The Art of Balance".  Take both classes and earn a discount!

 Click on these links to find out more on these classes and to sign up.  Let's Create! 
http://www.aforartistic.com/character-heads-hands.html  
http://www.aforartistic.com/art-of-balance.html

Yellow Sweeties

Yellow Sweeties

Here they are again. Bold and yes yellow.

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Jeepers Peepers

Jeepers Peepers

This little frog keeps peeping out over things. I have been on a diet shall we say and

I do certainly eat some strange things for breakfast , lunch and dinner.

 It is just downright unpredictable. My entry for daily paintworks challenge Paint your

breakfast. Frog legs anyone? THis is actually one of those little frogs made to hang on the

side of a flower pot.

6x8 oil on canvas panels

$50

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View From The Top

A View From The Top

I bought these lemons the other day and the label on the

bag said Sweet and Sour. That is exactly my experience painting them...

Sweet and Sour. They will show up in a few more paintings I think.

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Sidekick

Sidekick

I just couldn't resist painting it one more time. I chose to change the color of the vase but

that is what art is all about. I like being able to change anything I want. It kinda gives

me a sense of control. I like it. Control I mean.

8x6 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Sweet and Sour Pork

Sweet and Sour Pork

This is a painting of a little clear tinted blue vase I found somewhere

about two years ago but have been kinda apprehensive about painting it until

today. It was quite fun. I must confess that I did study Helen Coopers paintings to determine

how I should approach the colored glass. Check out her blog. This was so much fun.

I do find lemons quite a challenge too. Oh yeah and that crazy wide up pig was

just begging to be painted once again.

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Cluck Cluck

Cluck Cluck

I don't know why I always have to paint two of everything.

Well, not everything of course......

8x6 oil painting on canvas panel

Itty Bitty

Itty Bitty

This is a little chicken figurine my husband gave me for Christmas.

After  I gave a strong hint of course.

8x8oil on canvas panel

$65

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Vinblastine Through the Holidays

Angry Karin on first day back in chemo chair.

I did start the Prednisone the day after my PET Scan and overnight NYC visit. I didn’t get much effect from the 50mg of steroid. The goal was to reduce the inflammation in my body, but I didn’t feel much of anything except a harsh blow when I came off of it. I did however get an effect from the next treatment step. That Friday, December 16, I had my first infusion of a traditional chemotherapy of my treatment past – Vinblastine. I had received it as part of my frontline ABVD treatment – the very standard frontline treatment against Hodgkin Lymphoma.

The idea of a variation of the R-CHOP chemotherapy regimen had been being tossed around for a while by my transplant doc, lymphoma doc, and the lymphoma board at Sloan. It was what was suggested as an alternative to the Revlimid but one that would be a sledgehammer at me. My doctors and I were hesitant to use it as it would be a very toxic blow to me and we are all on the same page that my biggest concern is quality of life. I do not want any more toxicity than I need and I want to be able to enjoy and live my life as much as possible.

We decided to start with a single agent from that regimen, Vinblastine, in order to see if just that one drug would do the trick to melt the current disease activity. Taking just this one drug would also allow me to travel to California with Craig – What? I know! (More on that glorious trip in the next blog – it wasn’t just artistic allusion in those Counting Crow lyrics, we really did go.) My Sloan doctors were more than supportive of us taking this vacation and wanted to do everything possible to ensure that I’d be able to enjoy it.

I received two doses of Vinblastine, one each Friday before we left on our trip the morning after Christmas. I got to skip a week while we were in Cali. The upside to taking a more traditional chemotherapy drug is that I can receive it close to home. I’ve gotten the IV injection right close by, back in the familiar haunt of Hartford Hospital’s cancer center. I’m back under the care of my beloved Dr. Dailey who is working beautifully in tandem with Drs. Moskowitz and Sauter at Sloan-Kettering. I truly have the dream team of doctors. They are kind, wicked smart, understanding, accommodating, thoughtful, and 100 percent in sync with who I am, what my health goals are, and what is important to me.

It’s difficult being back at the treatment center where I started with all of the nurses, lab technicians and secretaries that have seen me from the beginning. It’s as painful for them as it is for me to see me back in the chemo recliner. But at the same time, it’s comforting. They all know my long treatment story, my family, and so much about my life. There is a high level of familiarity there and it takes away the fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. In that regard, I feel fortunate to have forged such close relationships with the team there. We laugh a lot together and I get a lot of hugs and ushered into special rooms on the fast track – the privileges of being a longstanding “client.”

At the first treatment, I was pretty angry and tired. I didn’t want to be there. Craig and I were hosting our big annual holiday bash the following day where nearly 60 people would be at our house and I was much more focused on the fun of that, not this chemo crap, and the unknowns of how it would affect me. But I did it – with the escorting of my mom to make sure that I did it. The infusion is a push IV infusion so the drug administration itself takes about two minutes. I receive Alloxi anti-nausea and Decadron steroid beforehand then a bag of fluid after the IV push. In all, the whole process takes about 90 minutes, including doctor visit. It’s doable, though certainly not as convenient as swallowing a pill at home.

The biggest side effect was constipation – oh, very bad constipation. I was blocked up all through Christmas. This is caused in some part by the drug and a big part by the nausea blocker, as it doesn’t just block one exit, but both. Trying to get things moving was not fun. I felt the normal wooziness the day of the infusion, but was pretty good after that.

The biggest reward is that the pain is ceasing. After just two infusions of Vinblastine, I haven’t felt any pain in my hips and my back pain is highly reduced. A few days after the second infusion (the day before Christmas Eve) I didn’t have to take any more pain pills. This was fantastic as neither the treatment nor the Hodgkin symptoms held me back through all of our holiday events nor our vacation. I was very tired and again, very constipated, through the holidays but things really eased up for me that last week of December.

I went to Sloan-Kettering yesterday and Dr. Moskowitz was thrilled that my pain was reduced and saw this as a good sign that the Vinblastine is working. She told me that she could cry she was so happy. We decided not to add in the other drugs of the R-CHOP or CHLVPP regimens that we had discussed and stuck with what seems to be working with as minimal toxicity as possible. She is fully behind this plan knowing that it allows me to keep my active lifestyle and it was wonderful to rejoice in that with her. It’s not to say that I feel like a million bucks ­ – far from that. But when you’re in a position like mine, the “feeling good” scale is pretty skewed. For me, this is fantastic compared to what early December was.

Happier Karin Week 2 - maybe because carolers
came around to sing for the patients at the cancer center.

Another big development is I have mild Graft vs. Host Disease of the mouth. It is likely a chronic condition, something that develops in 60 percent of allo transplant patients. This is wildly uncomfortable at times, but so thrilling! I can’t believe I’m rejoicing about it, but when I learned yesterday that the weird growths in my mouth are GVHD I wanted to do a happy dance. Dr. Moskowitz sent me over to Dr. Sauter’s clinic, where he came down from the hospital making special accommodations to see me because he was so eager to look in my mouth. All three of us were pretty psyched that because if my sister’s immune system is going after the cells of my inner cheeks and lips, it means they may also be going after the lymphoma. We’ve got some immunotherapy action happening!

My mouth had been very dry, tingly and tight for weeks. The night of my first infusion of Vinblastine, big raised white bumps rose on the inside of my upper lip and along the inside of my cheeks at my gumline. There were lines of white raised trails all along my cheeks that were scraping up against my teeth and gums. The first two nights were pretty painful and I couldn’t eat or drink much without enflaming it.

At that point, we weren’t sure what was going on. It didn’t make sense that the sores were from the Vinblastine. Customarily, it takes at least a week after chemo for it to drop blood counts enough to cause mouth sores. And these mouth sores weren’t open and seething like ones in the past. They were more actual raised growths in my mouth, kind of like under-the-skin pimples on the inside. It felt like there wasn’t enough room in my mouth for my cheek tissues as the skin was so taunt and overgrown. The growths remained for a week though reduced in severity with each day. Prescription “Miracle Mouthwash” helped to numb and soothe the areas as it’s basically like swishing Novocain around your mouth.

Before my second infusion, Dr. Dailey took a look at the mouth growths and found the whole thing so curious. By phone, my Sloan doctors did as well. There were murmurs that this could be GVHD. Of course, I had done my research as well and was convinced by the photos I found online on medical sites that this was in fact what I had.

After the second chemo infusion, the mouth irritation is all but gone. My cheek tissues are scarred and swollen and my mouth is still incredibly dry, but by day 2 in California it was no longer bothersome and didn’t affect my eating or drinking at all. This further solidifies that it is GVHD of the mouth mucus membranes – a common manifestation.

Dr. Sauter explained that the sores were going to come whenever they came. It was likely just coincidence that they flared the day I started the Vinblastine, but that the chemo is actually what is making my mouth better. In his words, the chemo is like “taking a bazooka to my immune system” and is stopping my sister’s cells from attacking my mouth because it is suppressing it. Aha! Makes perfect sense. The hope is that the chemo is working in tandem with my sister’s immune system to go after the lymphoma. He still likes the idea of doing a Donor Lymphocyte Infusion with more of my sister’s cells after a few more hits of the Vinblastine to really get the lymphoma under control. I’m considering this option and will see where my body and head are at in February after four more doses of this.

To help control the mouth irritation, I have now started a steroid mouth rinse. I have to swish it around my mouth for five minutes twice a day. It brings targeted steroid therapy right to those mouth mucus membranes where the auto-immune action is happening and will reduce the inflammation there. If all I have to deal with regarding GVHD is doing a mouth rinse for the rest of my life, I’ll take it.

I’m at the Avon Cancer Center right now getting my third infusion of Vinblastine. Hopefully it continues to do the trick. I’m currently neutropenic again so I received a shot of bone marrow-stimulating Neupogen yesterday at Sloan. Seems that it worked: my neutrophils are up to 3,000 and my bones have the aches to prove that progress. Bring on the poison; continue the healing.

I Am Loyal

I Am Loyal

I am a dog but not just any dog. I am the dog that any man would die for

because if it came down to it I would die for him.

My dedication never waivers. I am Loyal

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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Painful Signals

“You are extremely anemic,” Dr. Moskowitz said as she pulled up my bloodwork results on her computer. She looked at me with great concern and it seemed that all the symptoms I had been describing since the beginning of our Dec. 13 appointment came together and made sense. 

My pain had gotten to be extreme, waking me up writhing in the morning, preventing me from sleeping, or worse, the gravity of it waking me up in the middle of the night. It would throb and seethe mostly in my right hip – a pain that emanated from deep in my bones yet would spasm through my pelvis and upper leg. It brought me to tears and it forced me to take some of the pain medication from the bottle I had from my transplant procedure. I called my parents the night before this regular check-up at Sloan-Kettering. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle the train and I needed a ride in. My parents were happy to oblige – my father’s first time driving into Manhattan – and I was able to stretch across the back seat with a blanket and pillow alleviating the pressure on my painful sitting bones.

My mom and I went into the appointment and the doctor asked her customary, “How are you feeling?”

“Um, okay,” was all I came back with, knowing that my eyes said it all.

“Oh no,” Dr. Moskowitz said in her sweet voice. “What’s the matter?”

Tears started to well and I hardly had the strength to hold them back. I told her how exhausted I’d been, how I had had some kind of upper respiratory infection, which really knocked me down, how I’ve felt some lymph nodes, how I’ve been having the worst pain of my life.

I couldn’t even finish the list. My mom stepped in and told her that things have been very difficult lately, that I lost my mother-in-law, and that I was very tired, angry, and frustrated.

Dr. M listened quietly in her thoughtful way and though she kept professional, I could see that she was breaking inside too. She’s young, no more than a few years older than I am, and because of that, we have a special bond with each other: two young women facing this Hodgkin’s puzzle together.

She told me that my low RBC count would require two units of red blood cells. My numbers were so low that the transfusion couldn’t even be given in the regular day hospital. I would have to go to Sloan-Kettering’s Urgent Care Center … and would I want an ambulance ride there? She even laughed herself at that request knowing how I always walk, always, and how she teases me that I do more hiking and yoga than she does. I’ll ask her about my exercise regime and she’ll say, “Should I be doing that?”

After a continued exam she was concerned about how gaunt and tired I looked. She felt some little lymph nodes in my neck and underarm but said that they were nothing remarkable, and likely could be reactionary, like anyone’s. But I could tell she was concerned. And she was not going to let this pain go unchecked. She worked to get me an emergency PET Scan the following morning. The plan was to send me to Urgent Care, wait for the units of blood then admit me as an inpatient so that the doctors could explore what was causing such a loss in red blood cells. For my count to halve in just a week was not acceptable and was cause for great concern.

I was so comforted to have my parents with me because the added concern of anemia on top of the worries I had come into the appointment with led to sheer exhaustion. Had I been by myself I may have just crawled into a ball and curled myself in the corner. They helped me get from building to building and into that dreaded Urgent Care center where the sickest of the sick cancer patients hang out.

I didn’t understand it. I knew I wasn’t feeling well, but I hadn’t felt as dizzy or debilitatingly fatigued as my numbers were showing. Just the day before, I had hiked a mile uphill with Sam Dog to our lookout. The Urgent Care nurses drew a type and screen match for the blood and we knew it would be hours before the blood bags came back from the bank. Then, each bag would have to run over the course of two hours. We were in for the long haul: I on a metal stretcher with a mattress worthy of an ironing board pad and my parents jammed into uncomfortable chairs in our little curtained cubby with extreme patient scenarios all around us.

The Urgent Care doctor came in spouting concerns about what my low blood counts could mean and told me that they would have to admit me and hold me until they could figure out what was going on: an internal bleed of some sort? This was terrifying. He told me that they secured the first PET Scan of the morning to check into the pain that brought me there in the first place. Equally terrifying – but assuring to know that we were looking into what I already knew was going on. The Revlimid wasn’t working. To me it was so obvious that my body was having a Hodgkin Disease flare. It’s a very distinct feeling. There is a certain chills-like tingling that I feel throughout my body and my fatigue becomes a heavy blanket wrapped far too tightly. It slows everything from my cognitive function to my walking stride.

I would have to be admitted into the hospital. They were working on securing me a room. As much as I persisted otherwise and promised that I’d stay in the city, that I’d come back first thing in the morning to get my PET Scan, the doctor was not having it. Can’t I just get the units of blood and leave? Why do I have to stay overnight just to get a scan? Please, let me go. I didn’t have a chance. They couldn’t leave me unmonitored with such anemia. They needed to find the cause of the blood loss. The idea of a night in the hospital was mortifying.

I changed into the requisite hospital Johnny and curled up with the paper-thin pulpy blanket they provided. Those Johnny gowns couldn’t be thinner if they tried and they always hang at the perfect length for the chest pocket opening to be right at nipple level leaving my booby the chance to unknowingly peek out. The “sleeves” never button up right and the back ties either slip apart at the most inopportune times or knot up so tightly that it takes some patient Girl Scout ingenuity to get out of the thing.

I endured more needles and blood draws and begrudgingly rolled over for a rectal exam, the lubed and gloved fingers of a stranger entering me and searching my bowels for a sample of stool or evidence of an intestinal tear. I had no strength and the feeling of defeat that once again I was to be poked and prodded like an animal was disheartening. I locked eyes with my mother with a look of pain and longing to be anywhere but there.

More time passed and my mom persisted with the nurse that my Complete Blood Count (CBC) needed to be rerun. That had been Dr. Moskowtiz’s request as well and we all assumed that it had been done. But when questioned, for some reason this had never been ordered. After some push, the doctor and nurse in charge of my care agreed to ask the lab to recount my blood levels. We were still waiting for the bags of blood from the bank anyway. I also still couldn’t eat in case by chance they had to do a test that required fasting. It was the evening by this point.

A few minutes later, we heard the ER doc on the phone at the command station saying: “I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen this before.” He pushed back the curtain to the cubby where my parents and I camped and told us that my red blood cell count was 9–far from the 5 that had registered earlier that morning. I was still slightly anemic, but that was normal for me. In fact, I was nowhere in the danger zone. The ER doc, with his heavy Russian accent, told me that Dr. Moskowtiz was on the phone and wanted to speak with me. I shimmied to the central nursing station in my non-slip socks with my fleece zipped over my risqué hospital gown and leaned over the counter to grab the phone and chat with her.

She was shocked and so apologetic that it took them so long to identify this issue. She was under the impression that they had verified the numbers hours earlier. She explained how rare it is to have just one number be out of whack – how if a sample is faulty, usually all the blood counts are unmistakably incorrect. At this point, all I was concerned with was getting outta there. She confirmed that yes, I wouldn’t have to stay overnight in the hospital, but that I would need to return in the morning for a PET Scan. Even though my blood cell levels were decent, I was still having Hodgkin symptoms and a lot of pain.

My parents and I were able to secure at room at one of our old stomping grounds, the Miracle House, and we spent the overnight in the city, unplanned. The organization and the accommodations they provide truly live up to the “Miracle” name. My parents were troopers. We visited CVS for essentials and a diner for a late dinner of French toast and hydromorphone for me. I slept no more than two hours. I was up all night tossing and turning with pain and worry. Half a book and episodes of Conanand Seinfeld couldn’t make it go away.  

We were up and in a cab crossing through Central Park from Hell’s Kitchen to the Upper East Side by 7:30am. Fingers were crossed that my PET Scan appointment was kept for me even though I wasn’t an inpatient as it was initially booked. There were no problems. It wasn’t until I was in that scanning tunnel, arms overhead and rolls of towels tucked alongside my head so that I wouldn’t move that then I fell asleep. I was overwhelmed, exhausted but comforted by the heated blanket they draped over me before starting the test. It’s a sad testament that the whir of a PET Scan taking 3D pictures of my body was this adventure’s magic sleep trigger.

I got a call from Dr. Moskowitz that evening. I listened and took notes on a scrap envelope at our kitchen island. Craig stood by reading over my shoulder. I wrote:

Lymphoma is growing.

Obvious Revlimid not working as we hoped it would.

Areas on right hip, sacrum, and vertebrate lighting up more significantly.

New hot spots in pelvis, left hip and abdomen.

This is cause of pain.

It is in my bones and on my bones.

Don’t start 2^ndcycle of Revlimid pills.

Stronger chemo needed to melt disease.

It won’t cure me, but will get things under control - will make me more comfortable.

Start prednisone steroid immediately.

I knew. I could feel every bit of it increasing in anger, flaring against me. I knew that the war inside was getting heated.

[   “It’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe that maybe this year will be better than the last. … The smell of hospitals in winter and the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls. If you think that you might come to California, I think you should.” – Counting Crows   ]

So we did.

Hey! You Come Back Here

Hey! You Come Back Here

Number three in the series of Paintings of Sadie the Yorkshire Terrier.

These were so fun. I do find that I just love painting animals.

6x8 oil on canvas panel

$50

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