Good Words: Judgment

Today's A Word A Day quote was one that I couldn't help but pass along. It's totally random, and I don't have any immediate plans to write about it, but I loved it nonetheless. And not because of how much I follow it. Much more because of how much I don't.

No man should judge unless he asks himself in absolute honesty whether in a similar situation he might not have done the same. 

-- Viktor Frankl

Round Three: Smooth Sailing

My head is fuzzy (inside and out)  and my body feels full and confused as it works on accepting a plethora of heavy duty drugs. I imagine a little mosh pit has formed in several spaces inside me and there, all of the new drugs are jumping up and down together, climbing on one another, having fun in their new warm space before its time to disseminate and get to work on their respective efforts from killing cancer to subduing allergic responses to unlocking the HER-2 protein on healthy cells so that no cancerous ones form there. 

Thank goodness, today's long visit to the Desensitization Unit on the 10th floor of the Dana-Farber Yawkey Building was drama-free.  The hardest part of it was inserting the IV since that took several attempts (which is typical as of late).  The nurse told me that my veins move once they are poked so they can't thread the little tube into them and they usually need to start over. We have been completely avoiding my right arm because of the phlebitis (inflammation in my veins) which basically looks like a big bruised vein running up the back of my arm. The vein is hard, which feels so strange, and I don't like to look at it or touch it.   

My left arm did great today despite that it started out sore and I will do a phlebitis-free dance around it tonight so I don't end up with two arms that I need to protect. 

The best part of the day was that I slept for a good chunk of the Taxatere infusion. I only got about two hours of sleep last night thanks to the steroids and the fact that we had to leave the house at 6am to get to Dana-Farber on time. So I was definitely tired, despite the five additional steroid pills I took with all of my other pre-medications. I was also a bit anxious so the nurses gave me some IV Ativan. After that, and the Benydryl, I was out. When I woke up, my one-on-one nurse told me that they had already raised the pace of the Taxatere to 80, a pace I never reached last time, and she said that drug was almost complete. The wonderful feeling that I had at that moment is the same feeling I imagine I would feel if I ever fell asleep on a plane only to be awoken by the pilot's instructions to fasten my seatbelt for descent. 

I have been wanting to write a drama-free post for quite a while and, well, here it is. Just a nice peaceful post to say that things in fact can go smoothly even when forcing in medicines that my body innately wants to reject.  

Today I had the pleasure and honor of meeting Dr. Mariana Castells who is the brilliant woman who researched and designed the desensitization protocol used at Dana-Farber and at a growing number of other institutions. Dr. Castells is a problem solver. I thanked her for all of her work and told her how much it means to me and my family. She said something like, We want to be able to give you the drugs that will help you the most, and that's exactly what she has done. Incredible, not only because she actually figured out how to do it (and I can't even imagine all the work and patience that took), but mostly because I'm not sure many people would have watched anaphylaxis like I experienced and thought to themselves, We can still make that drug work. So I'm adding Dr. Castells to my growing list of heros. 

Tonight I am also going to celebrate a milestone -- the half-way point of my chemotherapy regimen. This means I have completed eight weeks (should have been six weeks but had the annoying delay) and three treatments, and I have only six weeks, and one treatment, to go. After that, I will still receive Herceptin infusions every three weeks until October 2013, but the typical side effects of that drug should be minimal (assuming that heart toxicity does not pose a problem) and the infusions are only 30 minutes long. That means I will just need a morning or an afternoon off of work every three weeks to get that job done. Normalcy is definitely in my near future. 

Finally, tonight I will celebrate this great victory of Round Three by wrapping some Christmas gifts by the tree and maybe flicking on a good comedy. Even after a full day of chemo, life's little wonders still surround me and I'm ready to eat them all up. Speaking of eating, I literally can't stop -- another appreciated side effect of the steroids. 

Wrapping up Round Three.

Snuggling with my Mom's new reindeer, Farber. His girlfriend, Dana, waited in the car.  There was no way my Mom was going to let that infusion room remain un-festive today. 

Three Little Birds

It's very old news on this blog that my son is not easy to get to bed. He's been that way from the very first week that we brought him home from the hospital. The layout of the condo that we lived in at the time included a small walking loop -- through the kitchen, down a few steps of the main hall, into the little eating area, and back into the kitchen. I vividly remember Brian walking around the loop with a swaddled up little Teddy. Their two massive heads would be snuggled close to each other and Brian would be singing to him. He'd always sing Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds." He'd start out really soft and sweet and once Teddy basically screamed back, "Nice try Dad, but not a chance," Brian's volume would increase and his tone would get less sweet. About then it went from cute to funny. A while later, it just got down right frustrating.

Teddy still loves that song. One of my favorite videos is Teddy singing it to us a few years ago on a long car ride when he was still learning how to talk (he had no idea I was filming him from under the headrest of my passenger side seat):

I love his interpretation that "Every little thing is gonna be oper-ate." Because somehow, that seems to work too. (Also, we used to call him "Goobs" so he's saying, "Three little Goobs on my Goobs-step," which is, for some odd reason, what I used to sing to him.)

I got home from work today just in time to run up and kiss Teddy goodnight. After a big hug -- the kind I only get from him when I return home from work late enough that he's had time to miss me -- he asked me to sing him a song. Even though I haven't sung this one in a while (we were on a long run of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," with intermittent Star Spangled Banners), I started singing Bob Marley without even thinking about it. I take that as a good sign for tomorrow's Round Three. 

Last night I posted a quote about worry because, being an expert on the topic and all, I've been wanting to write about it for a while. In fact, I was bursting to write about it last night, but Wendy's case has occupied my full days and nights in the last two days so I didn't find the time. After I posted the quote, I worked a bit more then I took a break to watch this week's Homeland episode with Brian who had been waiting for me to pay attention to him (yes, sitting next to him to watch TV counts). I enjoyed my Edy's Slow-Churned Mint Cookie Crunch in front of our Christmas tree and our favorite new drama series. 

Mini Spoiler Alert for anyone who still has the episode on DVR or is a bit behind on the DVDs: towards the end of the episode, there is a scene in which a character begins to have serious heart trouble. I watched, and in an instant, I felt the devil's heat. Yep, there it was. Exactly like it had hit me at the Brigham last week. Heat in my chest, tightness, heat in my throat. Brian scrambled to shut off the TV and get my medicine bag. I could hear him frantically rustling through the many pill bottles as I tried to calm myself down. It's the same as last week, I explained bent over with my fuzzy head in my trembling hands. I wondered if I should reach for the little Verizon lifeline-type device that Sean bought for me and set up last week. Is this the real thing? A heart attack because a drug as turned toxic on my vital organ? And then I tried my best to convince myself that it was something far less serious. I remembered Jill telling me last week that my episode was likely a panic attack. I remembered Colleen explaining that grown men come into the ER all the time convinced that they are having a heart attack when in fact, they are suffering from a panic attack. I remembered that all of the tests that the doctors and nurses conducted when they rushed into my room last week showed my vital organs to be just fine. I trusted that this was something I could control. I'm OK, it's not the shock, I told Brian. It's panic. That's all. It's OK. 

A minute later Brian rushed over with an Ativan and some water. This is what the doctors said to take, he explained. I had forgotten all about that but he's right, they did tell me that. I swallowed the pill as instructed. Then he sat next to me on the sofa and held me tight.  You're OK, you're OK, he repeated. I was, and this one never escalated to the magnitude of last week's seizure-like panic attack. My legs and elbows never shook uncontrollably and even though the heat in my chest and throat returned for a bit a few minutes later, I remembered that that had happened in the hospital and I convinced it to go away. About five terrifying minutes later, the devil receded to his hiding place (back into the TV, perhaps? or maybe just back into some dark spot in my brain?). Then I cried for a minute, as lots of questions ran through my head -- Was this really what I had become? I can't even watch TV without some ridiculous drama? How long will this haunt me? Forever? Oy. Cancer sucks. 

I told Brian I needed another image in my head -- something much happier than the one that was stuck on pause in my memory of the Homeland character having a heart attack. He pulled out his phone and showed me photos of the kids. It was a brilliant attempt and I totally thought it would work. But unfortunately, it made me sick with worry. I looked at those pictures with a feeling of the purest desperation. I cannot leave them, I thought to myself. I stopped sliding through the photo stream. 

We sat together a while longer staring at the Christmas tree. Eventually we got up to make the kids lunches. After filling their lunch bags with food that we know we'll end up throwing out when it comes home again, I returned to my work for an hour or so longer. Brian asked if I would be OK downstairs by myself. I assured him that I would but he took his cell phone upstairs anyways and said I could call him if I needed him. I think he was trying to be funny. Or else he has a very warped sense of the size of our house; I barely need to raise my voice for anyone else to hear me, even if we're at the furthest ends of the house from each other. He texted me something to that effect a bit later so he clearly brought his phone up to bed (although he may have been quietly Fantasy-Football-ing on it). From upstairs, he heard me laugh at the text when I received it. 

I haven't written much about my panic attack in the hospital last week because in all honesty, it took me a while to believe that that was what it really was. When Colleen told me the next morning that she thought it was a panic attack and not an allergic reaction I listened, but not really. I thought to myself, It couldn't be only that because I felt it in my chest. And I wasn't even worrying about anything when it started. I still think it's strange that last week, the devil's heat came out of no where, and it makes a lot more sense to me that it would happen at that scene of Homeland. But I trust that Colleen and the doctors are right. Especially after last night. 

I used to think I knew what a panic attack was. When I flew on planes and my arms and legs shook and I could barely move, I thought I was having a panic arrack. Maybe I was, because I still don't claim to understand much about it. But what I felt on planes was nothing compared to this. Because my last two attacks (and perhaps even the episode I had during Round Two which now I realize may have been only panic) were something so physical that I literally felt the heat of the anxiety in my chest and my throat. I had no idea that something that originates in my mind could so seriously effect my body. But now I know -- the mind is even more powerful than I thought before, and I already knew it had pretty incredible forces. 

Last night when I was going to bed, I thought more about my worrying habits. They've come to annoy the hell out of me and I was jumping from thought to thought about that. I realized that I shouldn't pretend that I only started worrying when I got cancer because I was a habitual worrier long before that. So really, I should only blame cancer for the difference in the marginal worry. It's a substantial increase, but I have to admit, I didn't go from 0 to 60 in a few months. 

The thing is that I never sweat the small stuff, even before cancer. I always saved my worry for big stuff, like terminal illnesses and terrible car crashes. At least once or twice a week I have bad dreams about natural disasters (usually tsnuamis and tornadoes -- makes sense for someone who grew up in Massachusetts, right?!?) and when those tragedies really happen somewhere in the world, I can barely peek at the news without feeling anxiety and overwhelming sadness surge in me. Ever since September 11th, I also worry way too much about terrorism. Of course that makes flying beyond miserable, but my crazy mind sometimes runs amuck even on the commuter train to Boston. As I sit there working myself into a tizzy, I wonder if the woman doing Suduko or the guy reading the paper next to me can tell how nuts I am. I doubt they can, which is good. But then I just get mad at myself because I can't be normal like them. Brian always jokes that I can't turn my brain off. I really can't and I hate it. 

Here's one more, really good (or bad?) example of how how crazy I am. One night earlier this year, a couple of raccoons somehow got stuck on our roof. Brian and I were both sound asleep and we awoke to the unbelievably loud noises of these two little beasts hissing and tumbling and running around above our heads. Here's how I know that I am off my rocker in an subconscious state, as well as a conscious one -- as Brian ran around outside in his boxers and sneakers, wielding his hockey stick and flashlight, I lied in bed more than half asleep worrying that aliens had landed on our roof. I honestly wish I were kidding and I won't be surprised if I scare off a few friends with this post (although that's always a risk with the steroid induced entries). Or perhaps I will just get flooded with ideas for a good therapist. Don't worry -- Dr. Fasciano is already meeting with me tomorrow during my infusion to discuss ways I can deal with my anxiety. She called me after the line had fallen silent on my end. Truthfully, I thought I was doing great. Clearly I was wrong. 

Back to aliens. I admit that while I don't believe UFO stories and stuff like that, I do believe in extra-terrestrial life. I mean, in a universe (or universes?) that have no end, I figure there must be something else out there somewhere. But when I woke up the morning after the raccoon romp and remembered what my wacky mostly sleeping mind had been worrying about the night before, I horrified even myself. And again I thought, why can't I just turn my stupid brain off?

In my recent clinical adventures, I have learned this concept of a baseline and as I mentioned above, I had a quality baseline of worry. I think I've risen above my worry baseline in the last few months because my worry is now clearer and more concentrated. Cancer has given me very tangible images of what to worry about -- not being able to breathe because of an allergic reaction; my heart suffering as a side effect of the Herceptin; or worst of all, my cancer returning and all of the nightmarish things that would soon follow. Yeah, I better stop writing this paragraph before I need to call my friends at Verizon's Care Center (Brian has escaped to play hockey, but turns out my pre-911 system calls him after I call them -- neat huh?!?). 

Moving on. As clear as the day, I remember my first interview in August 2006 with a partner at Ropes & Gray (who has since left the firm). He asked me something about how I handle stress. I told him that I try to reserve my stress for only the important things in life. For instance, I explained, if my Mom was diagnosed with cancer, I would be stressed, but with work, I just try to keep it all in perspective. 

Ah, perspective. I've learned recently that it can't stay stagnant because life sure doesn't. Dana-Farber and the Brigham have given me a whole new perspective and most of the time I am there I feel so blessed to be fighting for a cure. Actually, I feel so lucky from the moment I drive away from our house or my kids' school towards Boston for an appointment; I thank God that my kids don't need to walk into an oncologist's office with me. Every single day I feel so lucky that I'm the one that got cancer because I couldn't sit in the recliner watching this happen to someone I love. 

As you know, I get pissed too. At smokers and at holding patterns. At allergies and at sore arms. At my brain, which, like most Apple products, just doesn't seem to have a Power Off button. 

OK, now I'm just running on steroids so I better wrap this one up before your boredom sets in. (Brian suggested that I put a Steroid Disclaimer on these posts to prepare, or better yet, to spare potential readers.) Unfortunately, I don't have any wise words for worriers except to say, I understand, and I feel your pain. I assume Corrie Ten Boom felt our pain too because she sure seems right on when she said, "Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” I do feel empty of strength when I worry, and it definitely doesn't make any future sorrow go away. 

I guess what she's implying is that I will be stronger if I don't worry. That seems to be true, but worrying sure is a tough habit to break. I'm not asking for a lot. A good first step would be to call Brian's cell when I figure he's available, have him not answer, and not jump to assuming that something awful happened. Baby steps. 

I wonder if Bob Marley understood the worriers' pain, too. On the one hand, I think maybe he didn't because his command is much easier said than done. I don't want to worry, I just don't always know how not to. Then I keep singing and I realize why I love that song so much. Because every morning I rise up and I appreciate that the sun has risen up too. And every morning, three little birds are singing at my doorstep (actually, one big bird and two little ones). Actually, Teddy is usually yelling for me to get him his milk and Annabel is wondering, "Mama, whee-ah ah you?" But those are my melodies, and they are pure and true. Those sweet songs give me all the reason I need to do anything and everything to make sure that everything is gonna be all right. Even if I worry too much along the way. 

"Three Little Birds" 

By: Bob Marley

...
Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you-ou-ou:")

Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
...

Good Words: Worrying

“Worrying is carrying tomorrow's load with today's strength -- carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” 

-- Corrie Ten Boom

In Sickness and In Health

Just about a week ago, Brian and I arranged babysitters, packed a bag, and left the house in a hurry, half-dressed in our pajamas. A glamorous five-day, five-night stay at Brigham & Women's followed, including room service, shopping, and non-stop infusions.

Yesterday, thanks to three shifts of wonderful friends and family who took the kids, we again packed a bag and left the house in a hurry, half-dressed in our pajamas. But this time, we headed up to Maine, fever-free, for our friends' wedding.

Leaving the house with only one bag and no kids always makes me feel like I have forgotten something. It takes a while to decompress from the craziness of planning to be away for a night and the hectic process of actually getting out the door. But once we crossed the Massachusetts border into New Hampshire, I was ready to enjoy a night away in a place where I wouldn’t be stuck with needles every few hours and where I could go to the bathroom without a nurse coming in afterwards to measure how much pee I left in the “hat.”

I haven’t dressed up in what feels like ages and as much as I love Life is Good pajamas and sexy blue and white johnnys, it was nice to put on a dress and try to look somewhat put together. It was especially fun to learn that the whole double mastectomy and reconstruction thing comes with an awesome perk (or better yet, two perks) – I no longer need any strapless, stick-on, or sewn-into-the-dress bra when it comes time to be fancy. Nope, those tissue expanders stay strong and upright, and since it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the work of my plastic surgeon, I’m not too modest to brag about it. Oh, and, I still don’t have any nipples so I don’t even need to worry about my dress falling a tad too low – there’s nothing to see even if it did.

In my haste to prim and prep for the wedding, I also realized that no time was needed to do my hair. I just threw on my dress and my slippers and we were off. Once we turned off Interstate 95 and onto Route 295, I did my make-up, shimmied on some nylons, switched my slippers for heals and I was set to go. I guess this cancer thing does have its benefits after all.

The wedding was absolutely beautiful and wonderfully unique. It was in Portland, a small city I love not only for its proximity to Bowdoin and for the fact that Verrill Dana's home office is located there, but also because it has a fabulously lively though totally relaxed vibe (perfect for the bride and groom who I would describe exactly the same way). There was a dusting of snow on the ground when we arrived at Grace, the wedding venue that is a church converted into a restaurant and function space. The setting was stunning, as was the bride, and we had a great time catching up with friends. What made the night, however, was how happy Bill and Annie were to get married. Their joy spilled over into every part of the night. It's impossible not to have a good time when surrounded by that happiness, and there's no doubt that everyone did. And of course, throughout the weekend, I thought a lot about marriage.

Bill and Annie's wedding vows at Grace. 

Brian and I got married on July 8, 2006. Last night while I was falling asleep next to my snoring husband in our cozy bed at the Portland Harbor Hotel, I had a moment when I wondered, Who did we get to babysit the kids when we were at our wedding? Oh right. They didn't exist yet. Maybe it's true what people say -- it's hard to remember life before kids. Or I just have chemo brain. Or I'm losing it. It's probably more of the last one.

I love weddings for so many reasons. First, I love appetizers. Unfortunately, I didn't have a single appetizer at yesterday's cocktail hour because I'm trying to stay as germ-free as possible and I figured the serving plates may have collected more than my small collection of fresh neutrophils could handle. It wasn't easy to say No thank you to small pieces of beef, chicken on a bone, and flaky pastry triangles, but I stayed strong and resisted the temptation every time the smiling servers came around. Thankfully, Brian ate enough for both of us.

I also love weddings for the music and the dancing. Brian's not so much this way although over the years, he's come around to it. One of my favorite, and earliest, memories of Brian was from a party at Bowdoin. I got such a kick out of this Southie kid in his shell-toed shoes who was trying to make me laugh with his goofy dancing. Years later we recounted that night and I told him how funny I thought he was back then. Turns out he wasn't trying to be funny at all. He was actually just dancing. I couldn't stop laughing then, and I happen to be finding it just as funny right now.

Teddy takes after Brian and Annabel takes after me. When I play music in the house and start dancing like a fool, Annabel joins me. She can't help it either. But Teddy, like Brian, just looks at us half-embarrassed, half-laughing, and fully hoping we leave him out of it. We don't, just like I never let Brian hide from the dance floor, and I think deep down they both like it.

The band last night was totally awesome, but like the appetizers, I hung out in the background. My right arm is still so sore from my last round of chemo and my left arm is still tender from last week's infusions so I really wanted to protect them. But I learned that sitting on the dancing sidelines has its benefits too -- I got quality time with great people and ate far too much carrot cake and pumpkin whoopie pies. Yu-um!

On a slightly deeper level, I love weddings because I think they reveal so much about the bride and groom. As we get older, I feel like weddings have gotten even more personal (and more fun), as it seems that with age comes more confidence to stray a bit from the norm. Through the ceremony readings, wedding party attire, venue, toasts, and a hundred other details, I feel like I get to know the couple so much more, even when they have been as close to me as Rachel and Brianne. For instance, I never knew the extent of Seamus's patience, creativity, and artistic skill until I saw the place cards that he designed for their wedding (they are both huge Celtics fans). Pretty amazing, huh?!?

I also never realized how much Matt truly loved my sister until I saw him unable to hold back his tears as she walked down the aisle. That was one of the happiest moments of my life, and probably their's too.

At the same time, I'm not totally romantic at heart. In all honesty, I think that getting married is kind of like taking a new job or buying a new house -- to some extent, there is only so much diligence one can do. Part of it also requires gut instinct and a leap of faith. I was lucky enough to have known Brian for six years before we got engaged, and I knew that we had the same fundamental values. But when I said Yes and put that engagement ring on, I didn't know Brian's opinion on every issue that could come our way. I didn't know for certain where he ultimately wanted to settle down or how many kids he wanted. I definitely didn't know what he thought of adoption or how he'd handle something like cancer. Those just weren't things we thought about at 26 years old.

At my own wedding, I didn't sweat the small stuff. My Mom and Brian and I had so much fun planning the event and when little things didn't turn out as expected (for instance, the flowers that landed on the tables weren't even close to what we thought we had ordered), we just laughed. The only thing that got me down was the brief time during my reception when I thought our wedding video, shot by one of Sean's best friends, Paul, had been accidentally deleted from my little camera. Teddy and Annabel didn't exist yet, but I figured one day I'd want to show my kids that video. I was thrilled when we found out that in fact, the video was still on the camera. Thanks to Paul's keen camera work, we all enjoyed that DVD tonight. Teddy loved how much hair Brian and I had way back then. Yes, the comparison is pretty amusing.

It's probably obvious by now that I love photographs. (In fact, I need to hurry and finish this post so I can finalize the 100-page Shutterfly book that I give Brian every year for Christmas -- Shutterfly's 50% off sale ends at midnight Pacific Standard Time!) One of my favorite photos from our wedding is this one:

I love it because it captures my very favorite part of our wedding -- walking down the aisle with my Dad towards Brian who was at the end waiting for me. It's actually my favorite part of every wedding although I've never really thought about why. I guess partly it's the little things -- the beauty of the dress and the music and the culmination of the anticipation of that moment. But it's more the symbolism of it all -- without words, it's the proof that two people have made the decision to stand together.

July 8, 2006

I also love when couples write their own wedding vows, although Brian and I didn't think to do that. To be honest, at the time, I don't even know if I was mature enough to. If I had written my own vow six and a half years ago, I probably would have stuck to fundamentals -- for instance, that I knew I was marrying the nicest, smartest, and funniest guy I had ever met.   

If I had to write my vows now, they'd have way more detail and probably seem much less romantic. I'd talk about Brian's heroic role in Teddy's ridiculous bedtime routine, or his smiles and waves at Annabel after she wins the battle to visit him behind the hockey bench while he's coaching a scrimmage (or soon, a game!). I'd talk about Brian changing the drains that were sewn into my chest and about his attempt to sleep on hospital recliners. I'd talk about the fact that Brian didn't think twice about missing his hockey scrimmage (against Westwood) this Wednesday so that he can come with me to chemo. I'd talk about how he tells me all the time that I look more beautiful bald than I ever have (liar).

I know those vows don't sound romantic and if a couple ever brought up cancer during a wedding ceremony, it woud probably go over like a lead balloon (as Brian likes to say). In sickness and in health definitely sums it up in a much more clean and concise fashion. We actually didn't use that phrase in our vows. In fact, I distinctly remember taking it out, although I don't remember exactly why we deleted that phrase from the draft vows that the Reverend gave us. Maybe because I couldn't fathom that either of us would ever get sick. Or maybe because I wanted to keep the ceremony full of only visions for a perfect future.

Tonight when we all watched our wedding video, I tried to listen to our vows. But I couldn't really hear them. Partly it was because the little camera that I bought at Best Buy the week before our wedding didn't have great sound quality. And partly it was because Teddy and Annabel were being their usual nutty loud selves. So I'm not really sure exactly what we said to each other in the church that day. Whatever it was, I'm so glad that I said it.

I found out last week that I have graduated from the ICU at the Brigham and instead, they are going to try my next round of chemo in the outpatient desensitization unit at Dana-Farber. So on Wednesday, we will open the place at 7am and close it down at 8pm. Hopefully that's enough time to get all of my Allies in. I can't say I'm thrilled about spending all that time getting infused into one of my sore arms. But I can say that I'm actually looking forward to that time with my husband. That reality makes two things really clear -- one, I married the right guy, and two, we really need to get out more.

At Bill and Annie's wedding -- 12.1.12.