Saturday, January 13, 2018

Way way way way a long time ago when we had to see the Scariest Doctor of All-he was very much like the Great and Powerful Oz. You had to see him on your way out the cancer door. The question was, was he going to let you out? Or make you do some sorta chemo thing or what? It was terrifying and it only lasted about 7 minutes. 

When we heard we could leave the cancer center that day? I believe the phrase 'haul ass' would be wildly appropriate but there was One Thing because there's always at least One Thing, right? "Lose some weight." he said. And I was all like, yeahokaybye. Emphasis on the bye. 

And I am sure I thought about it a lot and I am sure I tried 101 different things and different cookbooks and different approaches. I work at a library. Cookbooks pass me on the hour. How many calories did I burn carrying those books back and forth?

Yeah well. 

And then the next doctor-the blood lady-told us that a person's weight had no bearing on the outcome of all of that business, so it wasn't even an official thing anymore. I did do(thank goodness)the Cancer to 5K thing and that put me in motion and Kristin removed my fear of treadmill and for the past ten weeks, with the exception of 2 hard-core work days and one day off for someone's birthday, I've been to the gym every day. 

This is my chart. It lives on the back of the front door. 

Did you get that? Every DAY. 

And what came at the hugest shock to me? Was that nobody was standing in my way. And believe me I looked everywhere. I went at all hours-like even right after an ass-kicking work day. I found my treadmill, I turned on the teevee and off I clomped. 

(It has to be said that P provided unwavering support and went way above and beyond with Grantley care.) 

I even started a most hilarious thing for myself where I make myself say hello to everyone I meet on the sidewalk on the way in to the gym purely for my own amusement. (Guess what? If they're not wearing headphones? They say hi back.) I still look up every day at the Loyola Campus and thank my lucky stars to be on the gym side as opposed to the hospital side. 

A long time ago, I had heard from these two women in the pool who were doing a gym program called Change Your Weigh that what they learned from the class was that they had Not Been Eating Enough


So yeah, I was the first one signed up. Or maybe the second. Who cares. It was 140 dollars-I think. For that you get two nights a week-one hour with the dietician/life coaches and the next night-an hour with the trainer and it runs for 10 weeks. All the staff involved-and I think there are like 7 people-are dressed in black so I think of them as the Weight Loss Ninjas. 

The 8 class members and the 7 ninjas just started-more or less. You had to go in for an individual assessment and you got to breathe into this super cool contraption that told you how many calories you burn in a 24 hour period just by being alive and that number determined how many calories you get to have everyday. 

Everyone's number is different. 

We're tracking our food on My Fitness Pal which I thought would be exceptionally annoying but it's actually really useful so I can determine when a 100 calorie Milky Way Bar might be appropriate (or not-duh). And then, like out of nowhere, the home delivered fruit and vegetable boxes arrived in our universe and then my co-worker Stephanie told me about this spaghetti squash recipe that was amazing and then all of these quacklie ducks started lining up in a row. 

A most amazing thing.

So now I'm going around being outraged that I purposely stopped at the gym to eat one of their official Change Your Weigh salads, right? And I'm all chomping away and just as I was finished, I turn over the plastic container of salad dressing that I selected to check the numbers and HOLY MUTHA OF JAYZUZ, I picked one that had 200 calories in it. 

That is two 100 calorie Milky Way bars or probably something like 9000 slices of cucumber with this guacamole, right? So I'm learning. And that is a glorious thing indeed. 

Saturday, January 6, 2018

For Christmas, I've been telling everyone, we cleaned the bathroom. People look at you strangely like, what are you, some sorta baboon? But the truth is, this factory runs 24 hours a day and there hasn't been that kind of time where you can take a rag and some vinegar and water and go tile-to-tile in the shower. We're just always running. 

Best part was getting to this:

And then actually getting rid of it. Oh. What a feeling. 
No chance of Opioid addiction in this house. We'd never finish the bottle. It's just not how we roll. 


I called Loyola and it was after 5:30 so I was crossing my fingers I'd get through. 

I'd like to make an appointment with Primary Care. 

Okay, she said, that's not a problem. What's the reason for your visit? 

Tired, I said. 

Long pause. 

I bet you have that too. 

She cracked up. Fatigued? 

Exactly. Super fatigued. And I just want to know if that's normal er whut. 

That's not a problem. It's also time for your physical. Would you like to make an appointment for that so you can get some blood work too? 

Sure. That'd be great. What's your name again?

Jaquitta(pronounced Jah-quee-tah). 

You are great Jaquitta. Thanks for that. 

You can hear a smile go through the phone lines. I don't care what anyone says. 


There had been a crisis of sorts. Where all the follow-ups (and there were three plus my social media final)landed in the same week which was a gigantic mistake but it just turned out that way. I was-all of a sudden-running on a different octane fuel or in a different gear or something where I was just about jumping out of my skin. 

Very much not like me but there it was. 

I could hear it in my voice when I'd speak to a doctor. Sort of like having a rubber band wrapped around your larynx. 

I asked for assistance. All of it. I think I frightened my Imerman's Angel lady with my 7 paragraph e-mail. Guess what. I don't care. I need information. 

Then I was on Facebook scrolling along and I bumped into that's written by my esteemed colleague Erica. I met her doing improv at Gilda's and then again at the Cancer to 5k and here, deep within her post were some extremely useful words. 

"Two years later, I continue to visit my oncologist every three months in the hopes of identifying any recurrence early."

Hmmm, thought me. That's so much healthier than my strategy of: I continue to visit my physicians in hopes of regularly frightening the shit out of myself. 



One strategy is mindfulness. So I am practicing practicing mindfulness. Ya know what? I love it. I had no idea. 

Sunday, December 10, 2017

What can I do, I ask, to cheer myself up?

Are you feeling blue? asks P.

Worse. I'm feeling purple.

Go watch the cooking show. Here he's indicating that he has good listening skills. I told him the thing that's getting me through(currently)is the treadmill and this Holiday Baking Extravaganza on the food network. 

I don't get to see creativity in action anymore which is a huge and gigantic bummer and these bakers got it going on in a way I could never imagine. 

I visit the treadmill everyday. The idea is not to kill yourself-which is a radical concept for me-gym~wise, but I have a certain preferred treadmill spot where I can watch two teevees at a time AND watch medical people pass by. 

Guess who I saw the other day? I asked P. 

I dunno. 


Was it a surgeon? 

Uh huh.

Which one?

You're supposed to guess. 

The one that just stared at you?

Pink shirt? Nope. Guess again.

I don't know. There were too many.

The hernia guy! 

Oh yeah? He was good. We liked him. 

Yeah. I saw him but he didn't see me. Probably on purpose. I did see The Blood Lady a few weeks ago and I heard her nervous cough. I know she saw me but she looked away. She should look away. That a-hole.

Here's the situation: Into each former cancer patient's life-I'm imagining-comes something called 'follow-up' and ever since I qualified as 'intriguing', the stakes have become uncomfortably high. 

The last two weeks, on top of regular life jibber-jabber-oh ya know like the heat not really coming on properly so you wake up at 2:30 in the AM and your pillow is ice cold, to-oh ya know, just plain old vanilla life-stuff, you have to go through all kinds of medical testing. 

My Mother, maythelordhavemercyonhersoul, were she here, would say to me, Can you just not dwell on it? She was an expert on the unnecessary depth of the dwell gauge of her offspring which worked for her but for me? Not so much.

And the answer is, well, I can try not to think about the ramifications of this every-three-months-cancer-testing, but every time I'd open my arm, I'd be treated to the sight of a blue and yellow bruise from Blood test 1. 

When I returned for Blood test 2, I asked one of the blood draw-ers in the cancer center why they always inquired if a Band-aid was okay. She said it's because people getting certain types of chemo-if they apply a regular Band-aid, it rips their skin right off. Oh, said me. I didn't know. I thought the pink tape that sticks to itself was just that much cooler. 

When I pulled off my Band-aid off from Blood test 2, I had a reddish purple bruise in the shape of the Band-aid. I couldn't ignore it. It was with me all week.

Thank goodness the cold weather brought sleeves. 

So. This week? Everyone's voices seemed louder. They seemed like they were complaining about the stupidest of stuff and manufacturing mountains out of the most moronic mush. I couldn't speak with people who were celebrating extreme good news and I couldn't speak with anyone who was experiencing extreme bad stuff because my entire goal was to try and maintain stability for myself. 

Easier said than done.

My Fairy God Friend threaten to smack me in the head if I continued to try and trivialize the trauma of these weeks of cancer testing. It's embarrassing to me, you know, to appear so weak this late in the game. 

So, I did go to the treadmill and I secretly raced the oblivious woman who was walking next to me and while I was watching two different teevee shows at the very same time, I kicked her ass into Northern New Jersey and she didn't even know I was spying on her treadmill dashboard. Watch out for me. I'm sneaky that way. 

I made it to the Jewel where I saw Carlisa. Carlisa is running the entire joint except she does that from the perspective of collecting the carts and bagging the groceries. 'How you doin'?', she asked and she looked into my 'trying extremely hard just to hold it together' eyes. 

You need to buy yourself some flowers. Right over there. 

I got a bunch of sort of neon fuchsia mini-carnations, because Carlisa knows many things that I do not currently understand.  


Sunday, November 26, 2017

A Play in Two Acts

I was talking on the phone with a good friend I hadn't spoke to in ages and ages and ages and you can tell that because I don't really chat on the phone anymore. I used to be really good at that.

Anyway, times are very difficult for artist-types and so, she was telling me all the crappy things that had happened to her recently, and after every lament, she'd say,: Hey. At least it's not cancer, right?

Unmercifully (for both of us) it continued. 
Blah blah blah blah blah, Hey. At least it's not cancer


One more time. 
Dah dah dah dahhhhhhh. At least it's not cancer

So, she asks, how are things with you? 




I went to a friend's craft faire. I have no official budget for craft items at this time, but I have a mad passion for touching yarn and seeing the colors and the artisan, in this case, is Really Outstanding. I had some dollars in my wallet-just in case. 

The friend is speaking to another acquaintance and upon seeing me, she attempts a flattering introduction. Ann, she says, just did her first 5K. Oh yeah no, I say. That wasn't my first. 

Big blank air space. 


I've ruined my flattering introduction. 

So I say, wellllllll, it was the first since all of this. And here-with the wave of my hand-I indicate the area between my neck and my knees. Just in case. 

The artisan says something about how I provided her with some inspiration and now I'm actually feeling-all of a sudden-sick to my stomach-like I am going to heave and bawl at the very same time. And I am not a heavebawler. Generally speaking. 

Now, I'm not tryin' to be like, whatever(as my friend Alice used to say)but my efforts on the race route were nothing to write home about. I didn't run the really hard part and I am not of the generation who expects to get a medal for trying, so,while I am most grateful to have participated-and I am-I feel like maybe we should all go ahead and talk about something else.  

The artisan explains to the lady that I'd had some Health Challenges and that every time it seemed like it was going to be over, there was another

(and here she paused)


Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, says me. All true. 
So the woman turns to me and says, 

Well. You're here now, aren't you?

The End. 


Saturday, November 11, 2017

I was massaging a very cool person. I get amazingly cool people-that is the very best thing-and she asked me-in conversation, what should you say when your friend shares some sort of terrible-type news(because she herself had been thought a horrendous tragedy and people spewed some severely jerky shit) and I said,I think what you should say is something like this: Shit. 

And I guess maybe it's the inflection that I can't exactly translate from here to there but the thinking here is something along the lines of: God dammit I don't want this for you. 

I really much prefer that to  some sort of blubbery 'I'm sorry'. That's so very box o' Kleenex, isn't it? 


I got a letter from the gym with the word 'unfortunately' all over it and it seems as if I have fallen behind in my societal obligations and you'd think receipt of that letter might bum me out but no. I absolutely appreciated the reminder that it's not too late to get off my ass-not that I was actually ever on my ass especially but, you know-it's Not Too Late to fulfill my obligations and guess what-I had been so scared of feeling dizzy coming offa that damned treadmill and now it's like my most favorite thing in the universe. (Thank you Kristin) 

When I went to school in NYC, it was the time of People's Express so I was able to fly back and forth here and there and every time I'd fly-I'd purposely try something more exotic. Like, this time-I'm gonna get out of my seat and walk to the bathroom. Or-this time I'm going to ask for a magazine. Or-imagine this-the Whole Can of Pop. Whoa, huh? And I'm approaching the treadmill the same way. 

First time-just go slow and try and figure out the buttons and second time, try and figure out how to turn the TeeVee on, and the next time, peek at the person next to you and see how fast they're going and the next time, watch how your neighbors transition into a run. People with headphones grunt like a crazy person. It's fantastic. 

And yeah, I could ask a trainer but where's the person growth in that? 

I went one night this week late. Like at a time I normally would never go and oh mah gawd-they dim the lights and I was so chillaxified I couldn't even believe it. 

I'm also closer to finding the best/worst cable teevee show-I knew I was close when I found the Long Island Medium-last night was some sort of ER medical thing where a man had too much success with his Cialis. You have to keep trotting along just to see what happens. 



Also this week, an episode in which our heroine ends up on her back in bed with her phone in her hands texting another set of fingers connected to the most wonderful person gently cajoling her back in off the edge. Who saw that coming? Not me. 

Here's the sound track

There had been what I thought would be a sort of a not very interesting exchange of physicians so I went without a scribe which was a Big Mistake. I thought I was just letting go of The Blood Lady in exchange for someone with better communication skills. Well I got that, for sure. 

He started with, 'We find your case very intriguing.' and intriguing is not something you'd ever want to be in a cancer center. 


Tuesday, October 31, 2017

I got the answer on the How Long Should You Wait For a Doctor's Appointment Question. 


The answer is: Emergencies happen but 20-25 minutes. That was from a nurse. 

Someone in charge at the Cancer Center said the doctor in question is "a genius" and "always runs late". P thinks that's crazy and I think a true genius could keep one eyeball on the clock, possibly maybe, but I don't want to get in a fight with people who serve cancer people because they deserve deliveries from The Swiss Colony every day of their lives. 

(Did your parents get that catalogue? I could never understand why my mother didn't get all of our food from there. Little cheeses on green grasses. heh.)

I have a new appointment with the king of hematology on Friday. 


I could have gone to Improv. I was all signed up for it. Rock, Paper, Scissors at Gilda's Club.

And then the bonus hernia showed up. The top of the abdominal incision-when I coughed, I could feel it pop out and I could shove it back in. Plus I had been exercising pretty nicely (not Zumba-quality but getting there)and all of a sudden? Sidelined again. 


I figured the dumbest thing to do would be to do any kind of motion that might further compromise the incision which left me with the choice of my lower extremities. I could walk, fer sher. 

I went to Wellness House for a lecture where I walked away unconvinced about the magical healing powers of aromatherapy, but I did, on my way out, pick up a flyer about Cancer to 5k because I'm always looking for The Next Thing. 

I did a lot of investigating on-line because this program is funded by The Ulman Cancer Fund for Young Adults and I haven't been one of those in years. But! In the few photos that I could find on-line, there was one woman who was neither young nor skinny and I thought, okay. 

I'm in. 

The first night, I drove about an hour to a suburb I'd never heard of to meet these mystery people outside of a library. My hands were sweaty-I was pretty worried/afraid/anxious. "What's your fear?" as my Social Media teacher would ask. I was afraid I was in over my head and the expectations would be too much and maybe there'd even be some sort of motivational football coach kinda yelling. Ugh. 

I had only shaken off the wooze from medication the week before. I was in pretty sad shape and that's a cancer thing. Your head thinks you're exactly the same but your body knows better. 

Kristin was the first one there that day. We stood around waiting for everyone else to get there and when it came time to set off to the track, she said: I've got Ann. And I thought, okay cool. 

We walked around the track-we were talking about running and I remember Kristin said something like, This is exactly what you should be doing. And I dunno. I just decided to believe her. 

I just made it a thing-that I was going to show up and of course when you're in a group-you find out that just because everybody had some relationship with cancer doesn't mean you're on the same page philosophically. 

For me, it turned out to be a sort of a volatile time-there was the question of was I going to be taking an additional spin with liver cancer cuzza that whole blood clot thang and one week was the dog bite and ya know, life a la mode. 

Generally speaking? I gotta keep it positive with no gigantic sighs. 

Now here was The Funny Thing. I was determined to walk. I even spoke to some trainers at my gym about it being enough just to cross the finish line. That made sense to them. It made sense to me. Everybody seemed cool with it and then we'd get there and just like your mother would put three brussels sprouts on your plate so you could try them? Kristen would be like, M'kay, what if we just ran for 30 seconds and walked for 3 minutes and I'd say, hmmmokay. 

And we did. 

What I Did Not Know

I didn't know that running was going to be unpleasant. I mean, you see people flying along with those Cute Outfits and you think how good they look and then it's you and you're clomping like an f-ing Clydesdale. 

Kristen straightened me out on that one too. You're not going to just start out and be perfect.(That's not an exact quote and she was kind enough to leave off the 'Duh.')

I didn't know that after I got done with one of these run-walk nights? I was going to feel so happy. I don't mean like, cheesy Hallmark happy. I mean like everything felt yellow. That was something completely new. 

What You Don't See In This Picture

1. These three women woke up in three different neighborhoods in the neighborhood of 4:00 am to do this thing. 

2. The yellow shirt looks like this on the back:

3. There had been a Facebook post that looked like this:
The List
Fancy shoes
Long sleeved shirt

Teeny water bottle
Yellow shirt over everything 

What else?

To which people kindly replied things about layering your shirts and wearing the full-length Chicago-Style down coat for the stroll from the car to the tent. And sunglasses. Who knew how vital those would be?

4. You can't see how cold it was and you can't see the one guy who said something like: 'Way to go ladies!' when we passed. And you can't see the person who was already coming back on a tiny ambulance just as we were setting off and you can't hear Kristen and Renee enforcing the most hilarious 'Ann doesn't get to talk when we're running' rule and and you cannot feel how soaked my hands were in my gloves and you can't see the young woman on the sidewalk injured-which reminded me exactly of cancer-like you're on the side all torn up and the rest of humanity is just passing you by.

5. What you do see, is me looking at my feet because I wanted to watch them cross the finish line. 

And, amazingly, I did. 


Thursday, October 26, 2017

 How Long I'll Be Left Waiting in a Doctors Office

If I arrive at 3:45 for a 4:00 appointment and get called in after 4:29 only to wait until 5:05? 

That's too long. 

I've never walked out of a doctor's appointment before. I guess I've established a baseline, huh. 

How long would you wait?