this is the end

of the reign of chemo...and not a moment too soon if y'ask me. My poor cuerpo is none too happy, and, if I were less ineffectual physically, i would be a true menace to society because of my increasingly angry mood. Who'd have thought that weakness and pain would correllate with anger? Since I, in the past, have been accused of possessing more than my share of that emotion of dubious desirability, would it follow that I have always felt weak and in pain? Something to ponder, perhaps, when I have more than three functioning brain cells to use. Or maybe not. Sounds too much like psychoanalysis, which has even less utility than than ineffectual anger.

AT ANY RATE..I am through chemo. Now it's time to start putting myself back together.

that's AFTER I watch about 100 hours straight of sci-fi tv. Starting with farscape. see u on the other side...

malaise: bloods and cripples

I had my blood counts taken last thursday, and was not at all surprised to learn that I am anemic as all hell...the leaden legs and gasping for air after a mere 10 minutes of running was tipping me off to that little factoid. I was injected with some marrow stimulator to force the creation of the little red bastards that seeem to be dying off in droves, just like the other victims of taxol tyranny, my eyebrows, facial skin and, patience.

I am impatient as hell. The worse I feel, the meaner I feel. Healthy folk walk around me in droves on my daily commute. They get in my way like bland, wide, tanks, feeling no pain and wondring vaguely what delightful thing they are going to do that evening. They toss their glossy locks and smooth their crisp suits, worrying about office politics or dinner parties. They talk too loud. Even when they grimly punch their blackberries, it is declamatory. It is overt. It screams of health and life and things being done, worlds moving, birth, life, work....but never death.

And I'm the death's head that moves among them. I'm the alien. I'm so tired I can barely walk and I'm fighting for position in the subway, running for the train, acting like I'm healthy and competent and of this world. My choice, I know. I mean, I could stay at home more. I could act more like a cripple. I could go bald and paint a big old skull and crossbones, or maybe a hazmat sign on my forehead just so humans would give me a wide berth. I could whine more at work. I could play the cancer card...

Or...could I? Let's be realistic. I have great insurance which is affording me the best in cancer care. I am relatively new at my job (i started in January). Could I really jeopardize that? Knowing what I know about being uninsured here in Amurka? (both firsthand, and from taking Poverty Law with a really cool, "fellow-traveler" type law prof?). Can I hear you folks? Can I get a resounding "NO!" I mean, HELL no. I cannot. So I do what I do. And I run to keep sane, and even that pleasure burns and seeths with fear and despair.

And YEAH, I know it's almost over, at least the chemo part is. But, this thing changes you. Try feeling like shit for 6 months straight. And feeling fear the rest of your life. And don't make light of it, and don't tell me that many people have it worse, and I'm just projecting health on people who may or may not have it. I don't give a flying fuck. I know all that. I know I'm lucky.

But DAMN folks, it's dark in here right now...

workin on the count down*

*apologies to the Clash

what are ya gonna do now?

when you ran the race you thought well I am hot shit now
working on the count down
then the next day taxol shot and now its back to OW
workin on the count down

well you've only got one more
now can you believe it?
When you're doubled up on the floor
HOW can you believe it?

Now you look back and the one you thought you were is gone
working on the count down
no hair no eyebrows on your face is one big nasty frown
workin on the count down

well you've made it this far now
can you ever relax?
can you pause reset rewind,
can you get this time back?

Well for those of you who don't know the Clash's song "Clampdown", You'd best go out and listen to it right now. Or stay home and listen. It's a great song anyway, and it has been running through my head. So, what do I do to songs that I love? I bastardize them! Nothing is sacred. I would bastardize the St. Matthew Passion if I could hum it. Fortunately for the high-brows, I am too low-brow to hum the St. Matthew passion. And why is it called "Passion" anyway? Like passion has something to do with hanging on a cross... Oh. well, maybe it does. I mean, see below.

Yes, I am at the countdown for chemo anyway (have a year of herceptin to look forward to). Thursday was my second to last taxol treatment, so, I am entering into the "pain cycle" even as I write. But, I ran this morning, and, altho chemo-ed, managed to keep to my holy SCHEDULE. Only one more taxol!

I'm psyched too, because in a couple of weeks, I have a REAL vacation. After my last taxol, gar and I are going down to Austin, Texas, and I'm going to run in the LiveStrong Challenge 5K. Should be fun. And very fun to be off of work for 2 weeks...

ugly

It is official. Chemo has ruined what looks i ever had. For some reason, in the past week, i've gotten wrinkles on my face. I'm not talkin cute little tiny, barely visible crows feet or laugh lines, i'm talking long, deep, morose, crinkled freakin WRINKLES. I now look even older than my age, which is considerable. I can't even be funny about this. This really hurts.

komen race report

well, I raced for da cure, along with 20,000 other people, and, I gotta tell you, I was the only freakin BALD person I saw. What is UP with that?

Anyway, the run was fun. We got there early, and there was a disco warm up of sorts on the 72nd street transverse which was kinda cool. The race itself was packed, and we started on 77th st & central park west, headed up to 90th street and cut into the park, where we ran down to 59th street, over, and back up to 72nd street. I ran with the Ex, and, after we got free of the crush of people, we went at a decent pace (well, between 9 & 9:30 min mile) for about 2 miles, because just running with so many other people was so hypnotic that I forgot to be tired for a while. I mean, it felt like the jog it was, not a run at all. Then, suddenly I got REALLY winded at 59th street, on the curve going back up to 72nd, so I walked for about a minute, then started running again and was fine to the finish. I didn't want to take the walk break, and I think my exhaustion was mostly kinda this psychological overwhelmed thing, but, at any rate it didnt' take much out of our time. We ran the whole thing in about 30 minutes. So, crappy time for a real runner, but ok for chemo grrl and the Ex, who could have gone faster but wanted the glory of running with CHEMO GRRRL the bald celeb.

At the finish line, I was pulled over by the People With Cameras who made me say something, and asked me a bunch of questions like "how many years?" which, in some other contexts would mean, "how many years have ya been off da stuff?" or "how many years did you get?", but which inthis context means "how many years ago did you have DA DISEASE?" I spluttered something about how i was in middle of chemo and the woman asked me how i felt and I said "tired". I guess that wasn't the best answer, considering the guts and glory of the whole damn thing, but, sheeeyite man I just wanted to stretch and go hit the goody tents. Which we did.

There were lots of hugs and cheers, which, I think I'm immune to because of my years of being a performer, b/c i'm pretty jaded about such things. My only thought was, "could I have gone faster?" followed closely by "when do we eat?"

There were some men in pink tshirts too, proving that men actually get breast cancer. It was cool to see them there, it tempered the Lilith festival atmosphere of the whole thing. That and the fact that there were 2 giant, balloon-constructed, pink, i kid you not, phallus shapes dominating the stage where they handed out the awards. hmmm. am I the only one who noticed that? Maybe they are gonna use those for the next testicular cancer race....

Last chance to be worthy

That nagging "not so good" feeling puzzling you as you park your SUV, pack your 3 items of groceries in 3 plastic bags, eat your factory-farmed cruelty-heavy chicken from KFC? White liberal guilt got you down? Survivor guilt? Catholic, Jewish, secular humanist or lapsed Buddhist guilt? Wake up feeling irrelevant? A cog in the machine? A tool for the man?

ARE YOU JUST NOT WORTHY?

I CAN HELP!

yes folks, this is your last chance to do something real. Redeem yourself brothers and sisters, so that at the final gasp, when god or the guy at the crossroads or whoever does the last weighing, you'll have that one extra chip that knocks the scales towards heavenly redemption and glory.....

THIS IS your last chance to donate to my Komen Race for the Cure. And you KNOW whut cure I be talkin bout.

So, brethren and sestren, here's what I need you to do.
Go here, and click on "make a gift".

THEN: (and here is the important part)
GIVE MONEY, bucks, the long green, the elusive sponduliks, the filthy lucre.

Then:
sit back, relax, and enjoy that guilt free feeling....



(repeat as necessary...)

P.S. Those who have already entered the ranks of the saved need not give again. unless they want to...

THIS good pain

During my too long and intermittantly illustrious but mostly mundane dance career, i, like so many others before and after me, managed to tear cartilage in my right knee, tear both calf muscles, and roughen up the kneecap in my left knee in preparation for a lifetime of decending stairs like a 90 year old man with shrapnel in his pelvis. THus, I am no stranger to pain in the joints.

However, I must say that taxol, combined with herceptin, combined with neulasta, has redefined the term "joint pain".

Now, if I am to listen to my body, I have joints in places where Grey's Anatomy says no joints should exist. If I am to listen to my body, I have more folds than extreme origami. If I am to listen to my body, I am some sort of segmented worm. I have phantom limbs where i haven't even lost real ones.

YES, there is pain.

Also during my dance career, I used to see a Chinese doctor who performed tui na on my stressed out knees. Tui na is weird. Mostly the tui na adept seems to be doing nothing but wimpily caressing your offending joint. However, occasionally, during the wimpy, sorta circular rubbing, they stab you with a thumbnail or fingernail (presumably in one of your "points") and it REALLY hurts.
Usually during treatments I was pretty quiet, already thinking of lunch. Once, however, I, venturing to comment, said "ow." At this, Dr. Ting (not his real name) chuckled.

"There are 2 kinds pain" he said. "Good pain. And bad pain. THIS, good pain."

Ok I get it, taxol. THIS, good pain. bring it on.