No news! That's good news. All still great here. I feel like a HUNDRED BUCKS. No, make that a thousand. I literally feel like one thousand dollars. I feel like legal tender, all papery and crisp. Somebody billfold me--quick.
Since I have no bad news to share, I guess I will have to start writing about happy, pithy, or trivial things. Seems more fun to me, anyway.
So today's topic will be: discontinued US currency.
After referring to myself as a $1,000 bill, above, I wondered if such a bill really existed. (You'd think I'd know, but really, I tend to deal with 20s, mainly.)
Sure enough, it did.
From Wikipedia:
"The base currency of the United States is the U.S. dollar, and is printed on bills in denominations of $1, $2, $5, $10, $20, $50, and $100. At one time, however, it also included five larger denominations.... $500, $1,000, $5,000, $10,000 and $100,000...The designs were as follows:
$500: William McKinley
$1,000: Grover Cleveland
$5,000: James Madison
$10,000: Salmon P. Chase
$100,000: Woodrow Wilson"
Cutting to the chase, these big bills were discontinued in 1969. Alas. Now we know.
Poor Salmon Chase. If you ask me, that was kind of his only shot at becoming a household name.
Over and out.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
A+
Quick update, since I haven't written in a while:
I feel fantastic! 100% normal. Healthy, strong, happy, FINE! And I'm having a terrific summer.
Here's how I've been occupying my time in the last few weeks:
1- MOVING SOON! Neil and I have spent the couple weeks getting the house ready to put on the market. We unloaded loads and loads of stuff to Goodwill and various organizations. (FYI: looking for a simple, free-of-charge way to renew your spirit that I guarantee will work? GET RID OF JUNK YOU DON'T NEED! I didn't really realize we had a "situation" in our house and basement until we started unloading crap. But how much of that stuff do you really need? NEED? So donate it! Consign it! Have a garage sale. Someone out there does NEED it. It feels so fabulous to have open space and order and organization in my life. (I'm sending my resume to Martha Stuart after I finish tapping out this post.)
1b-I GOT OVER IT. I finally finished unloading all those boxes of kids' clothes I lamented about a few months back. The ones that I was saving for the theoretical third child. And I felt fine doing it. It's just stuff. It's just stuff! (Especially since I'm giving about 300 outfits to my cousin, so they're all "still in the family", which somehow makes me feel happier, as I'll someday soon see them trotting around again on a new lovable human.)
2- FRIEND IN REMISSION! My friend, "A", the one I wrote about a year or so ago, the one who shared my stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis, and who came to all my chemos, is finally, after 12 sucky months, in remission herself !!! So keep hanging in there, fellow fighters. Medicine is improving literally every day. My own doc told me my odds for long-term survival have improved since this time last year. (I made him give me the numbers-- he is not normally in the practice of doing that, but I wanted some science behind my good feelings).
2b- On the topic of health, next steps for me will be a scan in mid-August to judge the effectiveness of my CyberKnife(s). And of course to see if anything new has grown. Until then, I get to stay the hell away from the Cancer Institute for a while-- at LAST.
3- SWIM! My daughter did her first freestyle recently--well, using the term "freestyle" extremely loosely, but hey. And we're going to be hitting the pool a ton this summer. Want a fun, productive goal for the summer that will help others? You can sign up to be on our Swim Across America team (you can be on "Team Shelly"!) Choose between a half-mile or 2 mile distances, in Lake Washington, on Sept 10th.
4- CAMPING TRIP! As I am holed up in a corner hurriedly writing this, my kids and husband are rushing about me, packing up our gear, since we're headed out for a camping trip on the Sound this weekend. Tidepools. Tents. Stars. The sea. We are so excited.
5-OHIO!! We are headed back to Ohio to see the family and friends this Tuesday-- for 12 days! We can't wait for the heat and all the fun back home.
Must run. My husband is being patient, but I'm not holding up my end of things today, so I gotta run. Hope you are all doing well, too. Go out there and get 'em today, tiger.
I feel fantastic! 100% normal. Healthy, strong, happy, FINE! And I'm having a terrific summer.
Here's how I've been occupying my time in the last few weeks:
1- MOVING SOON! Neil and I have spent the couple weeks getting the house ready to put on the market. We unloaded loads and loads of stuff to Goodwill and various organizations. (FYI: looking for a simple, free-of-charge way to renew your spirit that I guarantee will work? GET RID OF JUNK YOU DON'T NEED! I didn't really realize we had a "situation" in our house and basement until we started unloading crap. But how much of that stuff do you really need? NEED? So donate it! Consign it! Have a garage sale. Someone out there does NEED it. It feels so fabulous to have open space and order and organization in my life. (I'm sending my resume to Martha Stuart after I finish tapping out this post.)
1b-I GOT OVER IT. I finally finished unloading all those boxes of kids' clothes I lamented about a few months back. The ones that I was saving for the theoretical third child. And I felt fine doing it. It's just stuff. It's just stuff! (Especially since I'm giving about 300 outfits to my cousin, so they're all "still in the family", which somehow makes me feel happier, as I'll someday soon see them trotting around again on a new lovable human.)
2- FRIEND IN REMISSION! My friend, "A", the one I wrote about a year or so ago, the one who shared my stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis, and who came to all my chemos, is finally, after 12 sucky months, in remission herself !!! So keep hanging in there, fellow fighters. Medicine is improving literally every day. My own doc told me my odds for long-term survival have improved since this time last year. (I made him give me the numbers-- he is not normally in the practice of doing that, but I wanted some science behind my good feelings).
2b- On the topic of health, next steps for me will be a scan in mid-August to judge the effectiveness of my CyberKnife(s). And of course to see if anything new has grown. Until then, I get to stay the hell away from the Cancer Institute for a while-- at LAST.
3- SWIM! My daughter did her first freestyle recently--well, using the term "freestyle" extremely loosely, but hey. And we're going to be hitting the pool a ton this summer. Want a fun, productive goal for the summer that will help others? You can sign up to be on our Swim Across America team (you can be on "Team Shelly"!) Choose between a half-mile or 2 mile distances, in Lake Washington, on Sept 10th.
4- CAMPING TRIP! As I am holed up in a corner hurriedly writing this, my kids and husband are rushing about me, packing up our gear, since we're headed out for a camping trip on the Sound this weekend. Tidepools. Tents. Stars. The sea. We are so excited.
5-OHIO!! We are headed back to Ohio to see the family and friends this Tuesday-- for 12 days! We can't wait for the heat and all the fun back home.
Must run. My husband is being patient, but I'm not holding up my end of things today, so I gotta run. Hope you are all doing well, too. Go out there and get 'em today, tiger.
Friday, June 10, 2011
T.G.I.F. - Thank God I'm Finished
It's Friday night. The last of my three Cyberknife treatments concluded today. Amazing: Three days ago, I had a little cancer. Tonight, I probably don't anymore.*
Amazing. You lie on a table for an hour a day, for three days, and KAPOW! Gone. No pain. I bet back in the 1950s, they envisioned something like this would be possible in "the future", and if you step back and think about it, doesn't the year "2011" sound sort of futuristic?
If you are just tuning in, and you want to know what happens during a Cyberknife session, check out my February 28th, 2011 entry entitled, "Meet Lenore".
Helluva week. Nitey-nite.
*This statement blows my mind so thoroughly, I had to leave it dangling there, alone, on the end of the paragraph. Because what can I add after something like that? "HOLLA!"? "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!"?
Woefully inadequate. So for once, I'll just say nothing.
Amazing. You lie on a table for an hour a day, for three days, and KAPOW! Gone. No pain. I bet back in the 1950s, they envisioned something like this would be possible in "the future", and if you step back and think about it, doesn't the year "2011" sound sort of futuristic?
If you are just tuning in, and you want to know what happens during a Cyberknife session, check out my February 28th, 2011 entry entitled, "Meet Lenore".
Helluva week. Nitey-nite.
*This statement blows my mind so thoroughly, I had to leave it dangling there, alone, on the end of the paragraph. Because what can I add after something like that? "HOLLA!"? "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!"?
Woefully inadequate. So for once, I'll just say nothing.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
My life as a rich, older gentleman
Last Thursday, I had my planning CT scan for this week's CyberKnife. All went well, and I'm set to get my lung 'Knifed this Wednesday-Friday. It will only take an hour a day. Then, as the informative marketing video states, "(I) can go play a round of golf afterward!" (I get the impression most people dealing with this procedure are men of a certain age.)
The pneumothorax biz-nasty is a thing of the past. After my recent two week (+/-) stay, I know half the staff at that hospital. Truly. I walk down the halls and find myself high fiving, pointing, smiling, and stopping to field questions, like some wealthy old codger roaming the halls of his beloved country club at cocktail hour. I even introduced one O.R. nurse to a CyberKnife tech, and suggested they grab lunch in the hospital cafeteria sometime. (I think those two would hit it off.) It's weird, I know... but I guess you gotta make the most of your days, no matter where you spend them.
That being said, I'm doing fabulously now. In fact, last weekend was jam-packed: Friends, dinners out, yard work, pool time with kids, lap swimming, big stadium rawk concert, Mariner's game, birthday party-- all in two days! All I missed was some time out on the back 9, and I'd really have been living large.
All right. Gotta run. This french toast isn't going to cook itself. Sometimes kids can be so neat!
The pneumothorax biz-nasty is a thing of the past. After my recent two week (+/-) stay, I know half the staff at that hospital. Truly. I walk down the halls and find myself high fiving, pointing, smiling, and stopping to field questions, like some wealthy old codger roaming the halls of his beloved country club at cocktail hour. I even introduced one O.R. nurse to a CyberKnife tech, and suggested they grab lunch in the hospital cafeteria sometime. (I think those two would hit it off.) It's weird, I know... but I guess you gotta make the most of your days, no matter where you spend them.
That being said, I'm doing fabulously now. In fact, last weekend was jam-packed: Friends, dinners out, yard work, pool time with kids, lap swimming, big stadium rawk concert, Mariner's game, birthday party-- all in two days! All I missed was some time out on the back 9, and I'd really have been living large.
All right. Gotta run. This french toast isn't going to cook itself. Sometimes kids can be so neat!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Read my lips: No new pneumothorax
Today was a huge day for me.
I had a one week follow-up X-ray to see if my lung was still doing ok, and not showing further signs of collapse. At this point, collapsed lung would necessitate not only another godforsaken chest tube, but potentially greater measures, like sucky chest surgery.
A collapsed lung, you may recall, is called a "pneumothorax". Pronounced, "NEW-moe-THOR-ax". Since I've had them in the past couple of weeks, then they'd resolve, then they'd recur, I have often found myself saying, "I hope I have no new pneumothorax." And it would always bring to mind George H. W. Bush's famous GOP presidential nomination speech sound byte:
"READ MY LIPS: NO NEW TAXES"
Those words, stated in his particular voice, have been running through my head at all hours over the last two weeks. Like a bad pop song you can't shake. Or like the scary sound from the Friday the 13th movies you'd hear just before Jason fatally bludgeons an unsuspecting coed. Just adding to the hell of it all.
But I'm happy to report that today's x-ray showed NO NEW PNEUMOTHORAX. Which means NO NEW TORTURE for me. We are back on track.
My body soap theory seems to be correct...
I had a one week follow-up X-ray to see if my lung was still doing ok, and not showing further signs of collapse. At this point, collapsed lung would necessitate not only another godforsaken chest tube, but potentially greater measures, like sucky chest surgery.
A collapsed lung, you may recall, is called a "pneumothorax". Pronounced, "NEW-moe-THOR-ax". Since I've had them in the past couple of weeks, then they'd resolve, then they'd recur, I have often found myself saying, "I hope I have no new pneumothorax." And it would always bring to mind George H. W. Bush's famous GOP presidential nomination speech sound byte:
"READ MY LIPS: NO NEW TAXES"
Those words, stated in his particular voice, have been running through my head at all hours over the last two weeks. Like a bad pop song you can't shake. Or like the scary sound from the Friday the 13th movies you'd hear just before Jason fatally bludgeons an unsuspecting coed. Just adding to the hell of it all.
But I'm happy to report that today's x-ray showed NO NEW PNEUMOTHORAX. Which means NO NEW TORTURE for me. We are back on track.
My body soap theory seems to be correct...
Friday, May 20, 2011
Superstition
I don't consider myself a particularly superstitious person, but the fact of the matter is, I've been entertaining some unusual superstitions in the last year, and today I need to tell you about one in particular.
Back when the shit first hit the fan, health-wise, I received some very nice gifts. One such gift was an extra large container of Philosophy body wash. Scent: "Strawberry Milkshake." I vividly remember first using it in my post-op days and thinking things like, "Wow, I am too skinny," and "Holy crap, I've been using this stuff for two weeks now, and I still haven't even made a dent in this bottle," and, "This is pleasant-smelling, and while it maybe wouldn't have been my FIRST scent choice, I like it. I wonder, though, if I will be able to get through this entire bottle. This is a LOT of strawberry body wash."
Still, I persisted. Months passed, and I SWEAR to you, I emptied MAYBE a half-inch. Reams of pearly pink soap remained, glistening.
I endured 9 months of chemo. I started getting better. But still, it was chemo, so it was not a good time overall. I continued using the soap.
Then somehow, probably in an early morning haze, I subconsciously made this connection between the remaining amount of strawberry soap, and the total time it would take to rid my body of cancer completely.
Completely rational and scientific, I realize.
I didn't totally buy in to this logic at first, but as I starting doing the math (and you know writers are good at math), I realized, "Y'know, if this thing IS going to go away, it will probably take EXACTLY that long." (As I pointed through the steam at the bounteous, half-empty bottle).
A superstition was born.
Around Christmas last year, with about 1/4 of the damned bottle left, they noticed the regrowing tumor in my liver. We burned that one out. Then, as the bottle started looking close to something I could conceivably finish, they discovered the regrowing tumor in my lung.
The clever reader might now say, "AHA, your logic is failing, Shelly. The bottle of body wash is almost empty, and things are getting WORSE." I'll admit, I started to wonder myself.
But then the damndest thing happened. The beauty supply company, Sephora, sent me a birthday card in March, redeemable for a gift in-store. The gift could be anything: Lip gloss. Lotion. Who knows. I never remember to use it. At the very end of my birthday month, I happened to be in a mall, and I happened to pass a Sephora store, and I happened to remember my "free birthday gift" card. So I cashed it in, and of all things, the free gift turned out to be a large bottle of Philosophy body wash, and the scent was called, of all things, "Happy Birthday, Beautiful". It smelled like vanilla yumminess, a scent I definitely would have chosen.
I wanted to use it right away, but first I had to finish what I started with the strawberry bottle. I HAD to ride it out. I suspected I would receive one final health-related "F-You" before it ran out, too.
Sure enough, with just a few squeezes left, the whole pneumothorax debacle ensued. As much as I loathed that experience, it seemed to jive in my head with my idea that my troubles were almost done. One last, shitty hospital stay, then I could move on. And I could soon switch to the new, yummy, GOOD LUCK bottle, the one bearing the message, "Happy birthday, beautiful."
If anyone is still reading this ridiculous line of thought, I just want to let you know two things: 1) You must truly like me, because I might not have read this far if I were you. This post is not unlike listening to a friend painfully recount last night's "amazing, but so weird!" dream. So, thanks. I love you, too. And, 2) Some good news. Tomorrow's shower will be the final shower I ever take with the strawberry body wash. There is just a TINY speck left, and then it will really and truly be ALL GONE. AND, my health is getting back to normal. I'm about to have my final CyberKnife, in two weeks. And! After an unseasonably wet and cold spring, the summer sun has FINALLY shown up in Seattle, just this week. I am practically delirious over it.
I have this strangely awesome feeling that my luck is all going to change.
Ridiculous? Perhaps.
But I prefer to think of it more as "Happy *&#$-ing birthday, at long last, ShellBell."
Back when the shit first hit the fan, health-wise, I received some very nice gifts. One such gift was an extra large container of Philosophy body wash. Scent: "Strawberry Milkshake." I vividly remember first using it in my post-op days and thinking things like, "Wow, I am too skinny," and "Holy crap, I've been using this stuff for two weeks now, and I still haven't even made a dent in this bottle," and, "This is pleasant-smelling, and while it maybe wouldn't have been my FIRST scent choice, I like it. I wonder, though, if I will be able to get through this entire bottle. This is a LOT of strawberry body wash."
Still, I persisted. Months passed, and I SWEAR to you, I emptied MAYBE a half-inch. Reams of pearly pink soap remained, glistening.
I endured 9 months of chemo. I started getting better. But still, it was chemo, so it was not a good time overall. I continued using the soap.
Then somehow, probably in an early morning haze, I subconsciously made this connection between the remaining amount of strawberry soap, and the total time it would take to rid my body of cancer completely.
Completely rational and scientific, I realize.
I didn't totally buy in to this logic at first, but as I starting doing the math (and you know writers are good at math), I realized, "Y'know, if this thing IS going to go away, it will probably take EXACTLY that long." (As I pointed through the steam at the bounteous, half-empty bottle).
A superstition was born.
Around Christmas last year, with about 1/4 of the damned bottle left, they noticed the regrowing tumor in my liver. We burned that one out. Then, as the bottle started looking close to something I could conceivably finish, they discovered the regrowing tumor in my lung.
The clever reader might now say, "AHA, your logic is failing, Shelly. The bottle of body wash is almost empty, and things are getting WORSE." I'll admit, I started to wonder myself.
But then the damndest thing happened. The beauty supply company, Sephora, sent me a birthday card in March, redeemable for a gift in-store. The gift could be anything: Lip gloss. Lotion. Who knows. I never remember to use it. At the very end of my birthday month, I happened to be in a mall, and I happened to pass a Sephora store, and I happened to remember my "free birthday gift" card. So I cashed it in, and of all things, the free gift turned out to be a large bottle of Philosophy body wash, and the scent was called, of all things, "Happy Birthday, Beautiful". It smelled like vanilla yumminess, a scent I definitely would have chosen.
I wanted to use it right away, but first I had to finish what I started with the strawberry bottle. I HAD to ride it out. I suspected I would receive one final health-related "F-You" before it ran out, too.
Sure enough, with just a few squeezes left, the whole pneumothorax debacle ensued. As much as I loathed that experience, it seemed to jive in my head with my idea that my troubles were almost done. One last, shitty hospital stay, then I could move on. And I could soon switch to the new, yummy, GOOD LUCK bottle, the one bearing the message, "Happy birthday, beautiful."
If anyone is still reading this ridiculous line of thought, I just want to let you know two things: 1) You must truly like me, because I might not have read this far if I were you. This post is not unlike listening to a friend painfully recount last night's "amazing, but so weird!" dream. So, thanks. I love you, too. And, 2) Some good news. Tomorrow's shower will be the final shower I ever take with the strawberry body wash. There is just a TINY speck left, and then it will really and truly be ALL GONE. AND, my health is getting back to normal. I'm about to have my final CyberKnife, in two weeks. And! After an unseasonably wet and cold spring, the summer sun has FINALLY shown up in Seattle, just this week. I am practically delirious over it.
I have this strangely awesome feeling that my luck is all going to change.
Ridiculous? Perhaps.
But I prefer to think of it more as "Happy *&#$-ing birthday, at long last, ShellBell."
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Happy again
After a few morose posts, I just wanted to let you know that I'm feeling much better again.
Today was a gorgeous day, and I'm very happy. Lots to look forward to in the next few months. And no more chest tubes!
Today was a gorgeous day, and I'm very happy. Lots to look forward to in the next few months. And no more chest tubes!
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