Friday, April 29, 2011

Live From the Chemo Room - Episode 6

Greetings once again from John's Creek for Chemo - The Royal Wedding Edition.

I'm writing early because I feel a nap coming on. I didn't sleep much on the red eye from Lima Wednesday night, and since I'm such a huge fan of monarchies, I was of course up at 4:00a to watch live coverage on BBC America. Just kidding. Ali did come into our room around 6:30 and ask her dozing parents if the wedding was over yet, so we flipped on the telly and caught the final moments of the ceremony.

Now that K-Will is official, Fox News has turned to nonstop coverage of the devastation in Alabama, Georgia, and Tennessee.  Being Fox, they are focussed not on the human tragedy, but on the numbers - how many people died this week compared to the "great" Natchez twister of 1890-something. Really Fox?

Dr Z and I will be talking later today about The Plan. I'm ok with whatever he says, of course, but I'm really hoping this is the last round of Oxalyplatin, and while we're at it, I'd like to hear him say we can cut back on the Xeloda, my 14 day oral chemo. Marcie would like to see me stay on as much stuff as I can handle for as long as I can. Not that she wants to see me at sub-optimal, but she feels like the more meds I get, the less chance we have of this thing coming back. I know she's right about that, but smokers know it's not good for them to take a puff too. Sometimes you just want the thing that makes you feel good in the short term and to ignore the potential long term impact.

Speaking of things that make you feel good, I picked up another 3 loaves of the Best Challah Ever this morning. Great Harvest makes it, but only a couple of locations in town follow the same recipe that the Briarcliff location used. Since it closed, Adele and I have traded off pickup duties from way out here in JC. You get a free slice of bread when you go, so I started my day with essentially a cinnamon bun masquerading as bread. Yum!

I'll let you all know what Dr Z says. There should be a Pet Scan in the next 2 or 3 weeks, so this would be a great time for any shamans among my faithful readers to conjure up a prayer  - or some peyote.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Bucket List - Peru Edition

Bucket Lists aren't really my style. Oh, there are things I want to do, but Bucket List has a certain connotation to it, as in, I'd better hurry up and do x because my days are numbered. Not my style. Still, if I were to have such a list, and I told you that one of the items on it had to do with Peru, 99% of you would assume I was talking about Machu Pichu. And you'd be wrong.

The 1% of you who said, "I bet it's the old, 'see the inside of two South American police stations in one day' " would be right. How did I manage to get an insider's view of the workplace of both Trujillo's and Lima's finest in the span of 8 hours? Glad you asked.

In Trujillo, we were driving from lunch to the hotel and were planning to stop to pick up some souvenirs. Trujillo is a coastal city with an active surfing area, and along that part of the beach are some little shops setup in booths, like a mini open-air Plaza Fiesta. We were driving north on a road that parallels the southbound-only coastal road, looking for the right cross-street to take to get to these shops. The son of the mine owner (or coke dealer as you may recall from earlier posts) was driving. We took a left down an alley, coming out on the coastal road about 3 bocks south of the target. Percy Jr decided to make the right turn anyway, continuing our northward treck on what is now a 2-lane one-way street - the wrong way. Now, given some of the driving I'd seen in my 2 days in Peru, this neither surprised nor concerned me, but the Pisco Sours may have clouded my judgement. As we cruised along cautiously, I tried to read the signage on the buildings.  As luck would have it, just as I translated the one that said Oficinas Municipales de la PolicĂ­a, a nice man in a uniform toting a small firearm pointed at our Toyota with a "what exactly do you think you're doing" look on his face. We pulled to the side and when PJ explained he was visiting from Venezuela, the apparently Chavez-weary officer asked him for his papers and had PJ follow him into the station. PJ's cousin followed and I sat in the car for a while, but eventually I wanted to see what was up, so I (foreshadowing) grabbed my laptop bag and made it close enough to the open doorway of the police station to see inside while Percy paid his $3 fine and was freed on his own recognizance (Words with Friends 100-pointer if ever there was one!). I took some pictures on my phone and (foreshadowing again) began to make plans for holding them over Percy Jr.'s head. Yes, we eventually did make it to the souvenir shops, where I felt sorry for the lady who sold me bracelets for the kids and therefor did not negotiate off the 3 for $7 offer she made.  


We flew to Lima around 6 pm and had about 5 hours to kill before our red eye to Atlanta. Somebody suggested the hotel bar across the street from the airport since we'd stayed there two nights earlier and knew the place would be more quiet than anything inside the airport. Exhibiting Skipper-like leadership, one of our group declared the food wasn't too good at the hotel, so we should just go to the airport (because, you know, the food there is usually so memorable). We ended up in a cafe on the pre-security side of the terminal, re-watching Real Madrid vs Barcelona from earlier that day. Quick aside, Messi is a stud, and most other players on both sides deserve Oscar consideration for Best Flop When Lightly Touched By an Opposing Player. Somehow, as six of us sat there with the bags piled up immediately behind two of the guys who were sitting with their backs facing the concourse, somebody managed to make off with two laptop bags, one of which was mine. The perp got my smartphone, a watch, my bluetooth unit, and the company laptop. Fortunately all my work documents are backed up so I didn't lose anything there. He also got my all-time favorite laptop bag. 


We found a Police Officer who ultimately agreed to walk us over the the station so I could file a report for insurance purposes. One of our Spanish-speaking cohorts came along and we sat with a detective who seemed mildly annoyed by my reporting this relative minor crime. After 30 minutes or so, he printed out the report, stamped it and signed it. Then he stamped and signed again, and a third time for good measure. As we walked back, I examined the signatures. Three different names, 3 different looking signatures, and 3 different seals, all made by the one guy. I was glad I hadn't tried to thank Senior Hurtado and/or Castillo and/or Munez by name.

See the inside of two police stations in two South American cities in the same day. Check!

Monday, April 25, 2011

The Beer - Chemo Connection

In responding to an inquiry from Todd Z., I had an epiphany. Chemo is like beer. How so? Let me count the ways:

1. Too much beer gives me a hangover; same is true of chemo
2. "Too much" beer is a lot less than it used to be; same for chemo
3. I used to recover from beer hangovers much more quickly than I do now; ditto for chemo
4. If I have a few beers, chances are it's when I'm out, but when I'm at home I might have one beer a night; with chemo, I get the big dose of nastiness at the doc's office, then take an oral chemo at home daily for two weeks (OK, that one's kind of a stretch).

There are differences too, of course.

1. As Marcie points out, beer can make people appear more attractive than they are (Beer goggles); chemo made my eyes blurry that one time, but ugly people were still ugly.
2. Beer make me want to eat spicy food that's bad for me, like wings; chemo makes me want to eat bland foods that are bad for me, like white rice and potatoes
3. Beer comes in a variety of convenient packages, from kegs to bottles and cans to growlers (what's a growler? Click Here and/or go to Hop City and ask for Kraig); chemo comes only in IV bags or pills.

Any more suggestions on how chemo and beer (or if you prefer, wine, apple-tini's, etc.) compare? Use the comment feature to share your thoughts!

Monday, April 18, 2011

Remembering Seder

Tonight we celebrated Passover with a nice Seder, a festive meal during which the story of the exodus from Egypt is told (rent The Ten Commandments, the movie's better). It was just the five of us, plus my dad and Marcie's folks. It was a lovely evening and a delicious meal, for which I can only take a portion of the credit. Most of the rest goes to my dad and Marice with contributions from her mom as well.

I find myself reflecting on Seders from my past, especially in my teen years, when at least for two nights a year, my house was the center of the family universe. Twenty or twenty five people for Seder wasn't uncommon and the cast of characters made for an unforgettable evening. Allow me to introduce you:

My grandmother Jennie Tasman, who had raised 5 children on her own, lived with us at least half the year. She was in her 90's by now and couldn't hear well. But she was sharp until a fall started a downward spiral that ended with her living in the Jewish Home, no longer grasping that we lived only a few miles away, which was good because we didn't visit her as much as we should have. At least I didn't.

My mom and dad carried the load for the evening - cooking, cleaning, getting out the "good china" and the real silver. I can still smell that wooden chest opening when it was time to get the silver. My job was usually to unfold The Table. You have to see this thing to believe it. It's from the late 50's and made of teak. Folded it is about 8 inches wide. From the side it looks like a squared off letter M. Then you start to unfold it, revealing up to 4 "leaves", all connected by hidden hinges and supported underneath by legs that swing out. You can fit 14 people easily around it. Sometimes for second Seder that was all we needed, but on the first night it was that table plus an 8 footer we kept in the basement.

My dad was a trained chef and was usually in charge of the brisket and the turkey. For some reason breast of veal became a staple for a few years. I don't think I've ever seen that on a restaurant menu, let alone had it in anyone else's home. But back then I was eating red meat and I can assure you, it was the best damn breast of veal around. My mom did a lot of the sides - tzimis and koogle I recall. And the soup - matzo balls so light they would float, or so I recall people saying, especially when comparing them to my Aunt Zelda, who was a) not well liked by the family and b) fond of rock hard matzoh balls. It was a tremendous amount of work and looking back, expensive to boot. So I don't begrudge my dad at all for replacing the good scotch with cheap stuff when my Aunt Sylvia was in attendance.

Aunt Sylvia was the person I pictured when I heard the word "elegant". She was a good 20 years older than my mother, her sister. She was well-dressed, or so I thought, and spoke as though she was very worldly, and I guess she was. She'd traveled a great deal with her late husband Dennis. I barely knew him because he and my dad had a falling out that lasted over 10 years. They actually lived on the street behind us for a few years before they retired to Florida, but we never spoke. My grandmother would pack her "valise" and walk through our back yard to go stay with them for a few weeks, then I'd see her walking back through our yard when she returned. It was odd, but like most things when you're a kid, it seemed normal at the time. They patched things up before Dennis died, and my Aunt Sylvia became a favorite relative of mine. She was fond of scotch, and if you ever look at my wedding album, she's the octagenerian in the short gold dress with Tina Turner's legs. Cancer took Sylvia from us just after Marcie and I learned we were pregnant with Adam. His middle name honors her memory.

Her brother Herbie, and his wife Marilyn were often with us. Herbie was a loud, often cranky man, but also very funny. They had four children whom we'll get to in a moment. When I was very young, they lived in Cleveland. Not the one in Ohio, nor the one in Georgia. The one that makes a good pitstop for small-bladdered travelers between Chattanooga and Knoxville. Not exactly the Jewish center of the South. Herbie's been gone a few years now. Marilyn lives in town and we see her once a year or so.

Herbie & Marilyn's kids are Stuart, Mark, Ricky, and Susie. At one time all three boys lived in Atlanta and Seders when all were present inevitably devolved into a snickerfest, usually started by Ricky. Somebody would have the lines about "what aileth you oh seas that thou didst flee, you mountains skip like rams, you hills like young lambs..." Well, apparently the thought of skipping hills was too much for Rick to bear. Stuart's wife Mary would try to restore dignity, but even she couldn't. Mary is party to two of my all-time favorite Passover stories. In her first year of marriage, this minister's daughter wanted to impress Stuart with her knowledge of Judaism, so she called to wish him a Happy Pesach. Only she pronounced in "PESS-ach," rhymes with "mess watch". (The more correct way sounds like Pay Sock). It was a valiant effort, and lest you think I'm making fun of Mary, she too is one of my favorite relatives.

Mark was a bachelor for most of those early years, but we eventually were lucky enough to have Keri join the party. She could hang with the boys, and maybe that's why it took my mom and Sylvia a while to warm to her. But they eventually did. Cathy is Rick's wife, and as the years went by their kids Kyle and Emily joined the crowd. You keeping count? They live in Arizona now but Mark and Stuart are still here in Atlanta. Susie and her kids Jennifer and little Ricky were also with us for several Seders.

Erin and Shelley, Stuart and Mary's adorable little girls, now both 20-something, were always a part of my Passover memories. It was through them that I had a belief that little kids liked me. That held up at least until I had kids of my own. Erin was the source of my other favorite Passover story, at least I think it happened on Passover. She was around 5 and was, and remains to this day, the most precocious child I have ever met. Apparently she had been practicing telling people her full name and could not wait to tell her Aunt Sandie (and perhaps her Nunkin Narnie, but my dad wasn't in the room at the time). I think they were in my mom's room, when Erin announced "I'm Erin Pauline Tasman. E-P-T, just like the pregnancy test." Mary was probably mortified, but if I ever want to remember my mom laughing, really laughing, that's the moment I can zoom to in my mind.

Craig was Sylvia's son. He's the oldest of the cousins. There are 11 of us on my mom's side. I'm the baby. Craig is one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet. He sells records, as in vinyl, mostly on Ebay last I heard. Sadly, after my mom died, neither of us has made much effort, make that any effort, to keep in touch.

Steven Tasman is another cousin, of course, who has lived in Atlanta for over 20 years. He and Patti became regulars at these dinners too, and we still run into them here and there around town.

Joel, another of mom's brothers, and Isabelle, made it in a few times for Seder. I think their daughter Lynne was here a time or two, but maybe I'm wrong. What say you, cuz? I know Lynne's brother Brian was never there. Some day somebody will tell me the whole story about that dude. What I know is very little and rather strange. Joel is a great story teller and writer. I remember as a kid being told I was like Joel because I cried a lot. Maybe the interest in writing is another quality we share.

My sister Stacy was there most of this time, along with her husband Randy somewhere along the way. It's funny how the years start to blend together. They live in Wisconsin now with their two kids, Aaron and Hannah. It had been a long time between visits home but Stacy's been here a couple times in the last year or so.

Now you didn't have to be a family member to snag an invite to our dinners, but I'm not sure why you'd want to be there otherwise. I think I subjected Cindy Brams to our Seder once. Sorry about that, Cindy. Stuart Brown was there a time or two, I think. And of course Marcie saw at least a couple of these Sederpalooza's before volunteering for duty. Like any family, we had our over-served elders, snickering cousins, embarrassed spouses, precocious rugrats, amazing stories from the 30's, 40's, 50's, whatever-happened-to-Uncle-Lou, which-Uncle-Lou-your-mother's-cousin-or-my grandfather's-nephew,  wonderful food, chad-gad-ya, and memories.Wonderful memories.

After my illness and my dad's little scare earlier this year, I longed for the familial bond I used to feel on Pesach and the High Holidays, at Bat Mitzvah's and weddings. I promised myself I would step into my mom's shoes (snug as they might be) and we'd host a big Seder this year, so my kids could have those same memories I do. My dad would still do the brisket and the homemade horseradish, perfect for clearing the sinuses of the pollen-affected. Marcie's got the matzo ball soup thing down, so we're good there. We'd have Stuart & Mary, Erin & Colt, Mark & Keri (and their kids Jordan and Jake), Marilyn, Steven and Patty, Craig, my dad and Sharon, Marcie's folks, plus our 5 makes 21. But it didn't happen. Too easy to put it off until I feel better, until it's not the day before Marcie and the littles have to leave at 5:30 for a 3 day field trip.

Next year, as they say.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Peace

Remember my post about meditation? I've learned that Hindu teachings typically end with the words Om shanti shanti shanti as an invocation of peace, and the mantra is also used to conclude some Buddhist devotional ceremonies. It was used yesterday at the conclusion of a memorial service for the mother of one of A&J's classmates. Her name was Shanthi, pronounced the same as "Shanti," and appropriately so.


I need not point out to you how completely unfair it is that for the second time in almost exactly two years, this  tiny class has a child facing the prospect of growing up without their mother. Gail and Shanthi both fought cancer with courage and fortitude beyond anything I can imagine mustering.  I'd like to share with you Shanthi's story, if only because I heard it for the first time yesterday. 


As a young girl in her native India, Shanthi worked with and met Mother Theresa. She must have made quite an impression on Shanthi, because as I learned yesterday, her life became service personified - whether in her work as an MD/PhD focussed on gastroenterology (a subject of obvious interest to me) or in her relationships  with friends and colleagues, for whom she would drop everything and fly across the globe whenever she felt she could help them. I sat in awe as colleagues, patients, and friends spoke for two hours about this woman's incredible attitude - she never stopped caring for and about others even in the past 5 years as her body was succumbing to a far more devastating form of cancer than mine. She never had time for a moment of self-pity and shied away from the limelight as she was being awarded for her medical research in the GI field. Earlier this year, after being honored as the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation's Physician of the Year, she finished editing the last chapter of a medical text book she'd always wanted to write, gave her last lecture at Emory Med School while on oxygen, then checked herself in to the hospital for what she knew would be her final days. She was sending e-mails to people on her Blackberry from the ICU, just checking in to see how THEY are doing. This was her way, we heard, to turn a question or concern from others into her own inquiry about the other person's well being. And by all accounts, she never looked stressed, never acted overwhelmed by the number of balls she was constantly juggling. It was as if she found her peace in the frenetic pace at which she was working to help others. Her peace, Shanthi's Shanti.  


Many of us who were from the kids' school didn't know Shanthi that well. Her husband Suresh was more often the parent who came to events with their son Kharthik. We all left the service wishing we had known her, had seen more of what we heard about from those fortunate enough to have known her well. And, at least in our house, a bit embarrassed at the number of times we've felt overwhelmed by our version of "busy lives" or the number of times we've claimed we've needed a night off from work/kids/projects/etc. We can't all be like her, but I wouldn't mind be a little more like her when it comes to embracing all that life has to offer and to giving all that one can give.


I feel like I should conclude with some scripture, some ancient Hindu text that talks about souls and heaven. But I won't. 


Peace, to Shanthi's family, her colleagues, and her friends. Peace.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A Little Whine with That?

You know I'm not one to whine... much. But this week has me feeling a little whiny. Probably just an inevitable let down after the highs of last week, but I've been sleeping a lot, as in 9, 10 hours a day and really lacking energy. Actually, Sebasitan kept me from sleeping last night, but that's another story, called "Why we don't have a cat anymore," and it's fiction, for now.

I am looking forward to what I know is coming - a normal tummy, a little pep in my step, some exercise, and a return to good cheer. Until then, I'll keep racing the kids to see who can be the first one asleep in the house. So far, I'm 3 outta 5!

Friday, April 8, 2011

Live From the (JC) Chemo Room, Episode 5

Today's chemo is brought to you by the good people at the John's Creek location of Georgia Cancer Specialists.  It's 15 miles and a world apart from my usual Gwinett location. The two country clubs you pass along the way to Emory John's Creek are your first clue that you're not in Lawrenceville anymore.

But this isn't a posting about the relative merits of John's Creek and Lawrenceville. It's a posting about me. Here. All by myself. Oh there are lots of others in the room with me, including Don, who at nearly 80 is dealing with his second cancer battle. He beat prostate cancer in his 50's and now is facing colon cancer. We're at the same place (round 5) on the same chemo regimen, and Dr. Z is also his doc. We share our opinion of Dr Z - that he's the best.

There's also an older gentleman who served our country in the Navy for many decades, and who now is an equal-opportunity critic of Whoever Is On Fox News, from "that lying bastard Harry Reid" to those "damn Republican men and their obsession with abortion and gay marriage." I wish I could say he was entertaining. But he keeps crossing the line to annoying. Shockingly, his daughter-in-law couldn't get out of there fast enough. So now he's alone. Like me.

I'm only messing with Marcie by saying I'm alone. She has to put in a full day at work today since we took the last 4 days off for our Disney vacation. It was a great trip. I talked about Monday in my last post. Tuesday, the skies opened up as we arrived at Magic Kingdom. That's a good thing. We got wet, but $50 worth of ponchos and another $50 for that swell sweatshirt I'm sporting in the photo on the right later, we enjoyed zero lines at Space Mountain, the Buzz Lightyear ride, etc, Crowds were so light that we knocked out MK in one day, which lead us to Disney Studios on Wednesday. I was picked to be a part of the Backlot Tour show, which involved donning a blue Tyvek suit and getting hundreds of gallons of water blasted at me.

Here's my free tip for those of you who stay off property when visiting Disney. Take a late day break from the hustle and bustle of the parks, not to mention the wallet-gouging. Eat dinner in the town of Celebration. It's 10 minutes from Epcot and is a beautiful little town where the restaurants all have a view of a lake that's the centerpiece of downtown. Fountains and rocking chairs along one rim of the lake make it very family friendly. We loved Market Street Cafe and Celebration Town Tavern, with both costing less than half what comparable in-park food would. Ice cream at Kilwin's was another hit.

At the end of the trip the kids each thanked us for "the best vacation ever," to which Ali wisely appended "so far."

Back to me. Today's mix is the usual - Bone Building Drug, Chemo Drug, Anti-Nausea Meds, Chemo Drug, and finally more Anti-Nausea Drugs. Nurse Dana played along with me when I asked what was on the menu, called the first drip an Appetizer and the last one Dessert. Gotta like her style!

So I have a few more hours if any of my North Fulton Fans happen to be looking for something to do this afternoon. If not, I'll be here, by myself. <sniff>

Monday, April 4, 2011

An Angel Among Us

You know those commercials where one person holds the door open for an elderly lady, and someone witnessing that later lets someone else have the primo parking spot, and that driver later performs some other act of kindness? I think the ads are for a bank, or maybe it's Trojans, but that's not important. I'm feeling the need to do something over the top nice now. I'm talking about "here, take my tickets to the Final Four championship game" nice. Woody Harrelson to Robert Redford for one night with Demi, even without the million bucks, nice.

The source of my good intentions? Doris. Adele's mother in law spent the day with us at Epcot, having taken the kids in on the Disney guest passes she and Bob have thanks to Bob's 17 years with Mickey. She even bought us lunch over my vigorous objection and bought Adam his first Bar Mitzvah present, a very cool DJ-themed T-shirt. She had thanked me for allowing her to do something nice for us. I know, it took me a  minute too. People often say "if there's anything I can do for you.." and to those who really mean it, it feels very good to be able to come through. We've had dinners brought to us, medical help and advice, lotions as previously mentioned in this blog, and many other acts of kindness. All are so very appreciated and I hope all of you who shared your kindness with us take pleasure in knowing that.

So I'm hoping there's a lost kid I can return to a parent when we go back to the park tonight. Either that or somebody choking on a Turkey leg so I can get my Heimlich on.
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