Disclaimer: If any of the words in the below post, previous posts, or posts as yet to be realized are spelled or used incorectly, TOUGH TOENAILS.
Go kiss a dictionary.

Why do these things always happen on Saturdays?

Today is a momentus occasion. A celebration of aging. Out-with-the-Old, In-with-the New. The ONLY TIME this will EVER HAPPEN, darn it.

My youngest brother bridging over to Boy Scouts, walking across a flimsy peice of rope suspended two feet off the ground, receiving the red epaulets that symbolize countless Pinewood Derbys, banned Hazing, Sleepless nights on frozen ground, and go oh-so-becomingly with his complexion.

This Arrow of Light Cerimony will be attended by the Cub Master, Den Leaders, younger Cubscouts, Den mates, and most important, our friendly neigbourhood Plumber.
That's right, folks, you heard it here first: Our Water Heater has officially bitten the dust, I repeat, has OFFICIALLY bitten the dust.

A tragedy that will soon be overcome by the wonders of Home Depot Instillation and the IRS Tax (Return) Agency.

Until then, I will be living out of the our immaculate 1/2 butt kitchen, musing about the many ways in which my life revolves around Hot Water.

By the way, a typical Happy-Bridging-Over present is a 47 gallon Water Heater. Electric. Any color, brand or style okay. WE DO NOT DISCRIMINATE.

When I first went to the Post Office to get my passport, I thought I was going to Austria with my choir.
Slight change of plans:
1. Destination: Italy
2. Entourage: Family
3. Head exploded--Just a tad worrisome
4. No Singing--Bonus?

10 Things You Really, Really Need

10. Bonfires. Unfortunately, none of you is likely to lie on your deathbed and moan "Why didn't I go to more bonfires?!" You ought to. Everyone loves glowing embers, and good things come to those who sing Kumbayah.

9. Flowers. Go out and buy flowers. Even if you're deathly allergic. Even if your face swells up and your lips puff out (Angelina Jolie is fuming) and your eyes turn red. Buy flowers, and know that the days of darkness and cold are soon to be over. Smile.
Then take an Antihistanine and lie down for a few months.

8. Coffee. What more can be said? I ought to just stop writing here.

7. Tissues. Can you beleive that sane people traveled with small squares of linen? And this was in the days before allergy medicine!
It should be noted however, that a) you can't sleep with a guy's tissue under your pillow, and b)Kleenex boxes positively RUIN an dashing image.

6. A rainy, stay-at-home day. Fire, good book, tea and Chinchilla-fur hot water bottle cover included. Extra for Snow, Sleet, blanket and Digestive Biscut.

5. The Peterman Catalog. You will NEVER have enough money for ANY of it, not even the 1903 Cologne and Aftershave set, but it's worth getting the catalog. You can look at gorgeous stuff for free.

4. A friendly IRS agent. A couple thousand could come in real handy sometime.

3. A baseball bat. Please, don't be so quick to dismiss it. Use to attack rowdy boyfriends, deface mailboxes, in self-defense, as a paddle if your car gets stuck in a downpour, or as a cat-trainig device. Or you could always use it to kill the opposing team's catcher.

2. A Gin-Sue. For use on anything from a Tomato to a cinderblock.

1. An Ostritch egg. It won't really do a lot, and it'll be pretty quiet most of the time (Warning: talking eggs not good.) But it's...Big. And a good conversation starter. And really, really round.

My eye lashes are growing back in!
They're about 1/8 of an inch long, and very thick and blonde at the tips.

YAY!

...Of course, NOW my attention is drawn to the final two lashes on my right eye, which are long, and close together, and dark, and spindly and they look like spiders' legs.
I know they'll have company soon enough (give me six weeks and my eyelids will be so heavy as to render weight-lifting obslete), but why do good things come to those who wait?

If you're willing to wait, you don't want it bad enough.

GROW, my velcro, GROW.

Is it at all fair that we had a 60-degree IN JANUARY?

It's okay in Florida. It's okay in South Carolina. It's okay in places where nobody has a Down Jacket to their name.
But please. My brother has a snowball in the freezer, he's so desperate.

Shall the Snow Gods smile down upon us?

Oh, and no more Dam jokes.

Last night, I was sitting quietly on the couch, minding my own busines, when out of the blue, my family hit me with six 6-ml saline saringes.
Salt water. In those little needle jobbies that you get shots in, but without the needle.
Have I not suffered enough???

Although, I must remember that...

Oh, and my brother gets his final four braces out today!

Hey... Guess what I just got? No, c'mon guess. I really want you to guess.

Okay, here: A perfect 20's silhouette.

Because guess what just came out at 9:10 this morning?
HA!! YES yes YES yes YES!!!

Now I have a hardcore Buggs Bunny Band-Aid over a little quarter-inch scab, and I can shower and put my arms over my head and turn 60's rebel and not wear a bra and be happy. HA!

I did ask if I could take my bloody, used Catheter home to show you guys and watch you ooh, aah and be violently ill, but evilsome Dr. Skinner put the kabosh on that one. His high on the humor reader is -52, not that he'd admit to it.

But I did try for you guys. I made an effort. Honest.

And now all I have to do is two months of PT (I hope) and I shall make you throw a Ridiculously Large Party for me.

Or I could take a really long shower...

Yes! Yes! YES! Yesyesyes!
My Catheter comes out on the 22!

...For those of you who are not as divinely blessed with the knowledge of The Catheter as I am, let me elaborate: Ick.
It is a peice of plastic that sticks out of the right side of your chest (and it has to be in a blood vessle or it won't work), enabling the Vampire Nurses to painlessly draw blood and preventing you, the Long-Suffering but Silent Wearer, from taking a shower.
Wondering why I haven't been smelling as rosy as usual? Wonder no more.

I plan to take a very long, hot bubble bath when I come around from all the knock-out meds, so please, no letters till half-past February.

There is a cooler on our back deck, stuffed with all the things that won't fit in our fridge.

"Honey? HONEY? Shrimp, Safer Soap and brandy...Tails on or off, mom?"

My brothers are in a vaccuming frenzy. Can a straight guy be in a vaccuming frenzy?

"Are your ears burning yet?"

My Nana is helping with the millions of dishes that have to be cooked or prepared.

"No, I have enough of that...NUTS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON FIRE!!"

I take this opportunity to say, if no one shows up tomorow, heads will roll and heaven will tremble.

...And really quick while I'm thinking of it, drop by our house on January 7 between 1 and 6 for cheese and crackers and hugs and all kinds of fun stuff.

So I'm finally back! We're all glad and happy. We're so overjoyed and boisterous, we don't even care about redundancies (or misspellings?).

I'm so glad the holidays are over, though. This means I shall stop all this Chemo-induced writing and revert back to my usual self.
Consider yourselves warned.

12/26

Uuuugh.
I just spent ALL DAY at Duke (10:00-6:00 counts as all day, right?) and only just got home.
And now, I shall treat you all to a rant. Aren't you lucky.

So my dad and I went today, got there a little before 10:00, the place was a tomb.
We check in, the nurse does all her fun stuff, and then we wait.
For four hours.
Now I don't mean to complain (yeah, like hell I don't), but really people. Get it together.
So by this time, the place is hopping, because everyone wants blood right after Christmas.

So here's a bit of a complication: I am still very Neutropenic. This means I wear a teal mask that does NOT COME OFF in public.

So guess what?
It's lunchtime. I am in a chair in a big room with a bunch of other similarly filled chairs. I can't eat, because I can't take my mask off. I. Am. Hungry.

So after we finally get home, I spike a 103 degree fever, and we're back to Duke.

12/29
So now I'm at Duke, with something resembling a fever (at times), and an infection in my line that is apparently vigorously evil, and the same room I had ten days ago.
Oh, and by the way, I probably won't be home for New Years.
Ick.

Done. Donedonedone. Done. Finito, finis, finished, the end of the blasted era. Ha!

And that's just Chemo. Imagine how I'll react to the end of the year.

But yeah, I am done. Ha! I'm done! I'm...done.

My list of No's (as I see it, my immediate family would probably have quite a few things to add on):
No Fevers (or even a temperature over 99.0)
No 3 AM blood draws
No paper-towel dispensers
No trains of Little White Ducks (the doctor's pet projects in long, white lab coats who ask you odd questions at innoportune moments. Like during your 3 AM blood draw, maybe.)

Wow. I am done with Chemo...

Last round, folks.

Wish me luck.

I'm Mad About Chemo

1. Being sick.
2. Being tired.
3. Easily scandalized doctors. (And their little white ducks, trooping into your room at 7:30 in the morning.) There are a lot of those in my ward.
4. Paper towel dispensers.
5. Blood draws. 4:30?? In the morning?? These people have seriously screwy internal clocks.
6. Beeping heart monitors. Those things are seriously messing with my night life.
7. Screaming babies. Thank God they're not mine, and could we please get a couple ml's of benadryl?

13-19 is my last one though, and then I'm home free.
That is, assuming I don't get any fevers and they don't have to put me on TPN.

Tomorrow should be fun. I get my breathing checked, my ears checked, my ovaries checked, my heart checked (twice! They just can't get enough of my heart), and then see my one last doctor who can tell us that I'm fit for reluctant duty and she'll call us when there's a room.

But looking on the Bright Side...
The Bright Side...
The Bright Side...is currently indisposed...

Hey, adoring fans, guess who's back?

My boredom has been taken to a new low. Or a new high, depending on how you look at it. (You may now hail me as The Fearsom Lady Clemintine Carver.)

The most interesting thing that has happened is we got a Christmas tree.
Apparently, these health profesionals at Duke really hold something against fresh flowers when I'm Neutropenic, but trees? In the house? Plus Neutropenia? Why should that be a problem?
Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, you should get a tree.
I think it's mostly the smell. Having that fresh, warm smell permiating the house. And the precence. It's a tree! In your living room! Tell me that doesn't count for something!
And also bragging rights. "I have a tree in my house, what have you got?"

What isn't there to love?

So, yeah. Trees.

(My brother is punching his forehead, yelling "F7! F7! It's not working!" That was totally random, but too good to pass up)

Oh my God.
An argument about chocolate?
This is seriously the best.

Lindt or Godiva?

Thanks for weired stuff. For misspelled stuff. For stuff I don't even like.

For unprocessed, well-cooked food and raw milk.
Olives, boyscouts and Ninjas.
Magaritas. Martinis. Mimosas. Daquaries.
Stem cells, modeling jobs and paintbrushes.
For perennials, British Hip-Hop, and Home Brew.
Cloudy, stay-at-home days, for oxygen, for shark oils.
For turkey bacon and scrambled eggs.
Below-freezing days when the thermometer reads 42.
Good movies, good actors, good dogs. Good presidents (we haven't had many of those lately) and good phone service.
Music, good and otherwise.
Pencils, and for newspapers, and for chocolate and Duct Tape.
Camping trips.
My guys. My dads. Acting. Marylin Monroe. Hot Cider. Trees. French toast.
For fires and for guitars and campfire songs. Supplements and iTunes and Paris.
Oranges, rum, The Beatles, the 20's, and the Ocean.
Eagle Scout license plates, headphones, four distinct seasons, distractions.
My parents, who like my music, even when they don't understand it. And hey, be fair, who understands Portugeese?
The Theater People, the sweetest visionaries out of Happy Vally Nut House.
For bing undersood, for being accepted, for Edgar Allen Poe.
For Ali.
Balsamic vinnegar, pumpkins and for water. Ice. Shovels. Red wool. Harmonicas. People who play drums really well. Bamboo swords.
For things that make less and less sense the more you read/listen/hear/write/see/taste/smell them.

This is the best Thanksgiving so far. My brothers are headed to Kinston with my grandmother (who is getting lost a bit, and asking my brother, the boy who got lost on the way to his orenteering class, for directions), my dad is asking me to google How to Cook a Turkey (My favorite was "How to Safely Cook a Turkey Without Swearing the Whole Time or Getting Unreasonably Intoxicated". He wasn't amused.), my mum is reading the newspaper, I'm DJing with the help of a icemaker full of champagne and Luna, the Cat Who Likes Rock, World, and Jazz.

Have a good time guys.

I am ONE CHEMO ROUND away from finishing! La lalalalala, lalala tra lalalaaaaaaaaaa! And now, a delightful aria for you...
Maybe not.
But Hey! Guess what? It's raining! It's cold! My dad is getting a new truck! I! Am! Happy!

You know what else? It's almost Thanksgiving. Time to see all your crazy relatives, all the nutcases out of the family woodwork, and for God's sake, don't talk about the big white elephant in the living room.
What really drives me nuts is all my Southern reliatives. Babtist tea-totalers. I don't have anything concrete against Babtist tea-totalers exactly, but when thyr're related and you shove 'em all together...Oh, God, you'd be amazed how bad you need a shot of something strong.
Or better yet, a mini bar.

Of course, I won't be anywhere near Kinston this year. I shall be staying home and depriving everyone of my glorious company because I will be Neutropenic. Ha.
Certian people aren't too darn happy about this, but another year and I'll be back on the rounds. Be happy for me! Do not be bitter! Patience is a virtue, dern it!

Now, don't laugh, but I am not used to a dead bird for Thanksgiving. Pig, sweet potateoes loaded with marshmallows, and Cole Slaw are the norm, with a side of hush puppies and some Sweet Tay. We don't do sweet tea.

I'm going back to Duke tomorrow for some lovely blood, platelets and benadryl, and then I shall be home for the holidays.

Ask for me during normal work hours.