Another nice thing about chemo is that it gives me an excuse to use the motorized shopping carts in Maceys without feeling guilty. Today was my second time, the first being Labor Day, just a few days after surgery. I decided to resort to this method after almost blacking out and fainting twice today. This time I did much better at driving and only bumped over one display of chocolate and strawberry ice cream syrup, which Chris helped me fix. Thereafter I drove more carefully around corners. Stopping without running into things was also difficult.

Chris is a joy to shop with. He doesn't throw tantrums about me saying no to toys and candy and strangely patterned stretchy gloves. He can reach the highest shelves, which others find just as helpful as I do, because he lends his services. He knows what kinds of things we usually buy and can find them on the shelves easily. He is so cheerful and good-natured and tells great jokes. He doesn't run around crazily with shopping carts, and he doesn't huff and puff when I discover that I forgot to look on aisle 9 for the gluten-free items. And all that on top of being my chauffeur! He even went into the dancewear store with me to buy new stocking tights for Nani, since I lost her other ones.

I felt better enough after dinner (freshly purchased Tombstone pizza) and the Board of Review, which turned out to be for only Chris since the other candidate was out of town, to go to ballet with Nanika. Phyllis told us last week that she was starting a beginning/intermediate class Wednesday evenings at 7, and we decided to go to it and see whether we like it more than the advanced one we've been going to on Tuesdays. Haruka and Bethany came along. The class was much more my speed, and therefore I'm sure I'll be much more sore this week afterward. I'm having a lot of fun dancing again, and it's nice to know that I'm exercising at least once a week in a method other than going up and down the stairs and walking to and from the car. Washing clothes can also be a mild workout for me, as is showering. I wonder how long it will be before I tackle the Big Quail Valley Hill again.

Liz arrived from New York for Thanksgiving! I love Liz! I love airplanes! I love family! I love school breaks that allow me to make my children cook! Hip hip hooray!

Mom and I divided up the menu for the turkey fest. I told her my kids wanted to do the pies and rolls, and she said, "Oh, good! I hate doing pies and rolls!" I didn't tell her that they want to make six pies and one fruit tart. Enough for everyone to have a turn rolling out pie crust and making filling while I sit around and tell them what to do! Sometimes my chemo regimen is very useful.

Parent-teacher conferences have been this week for the elementary crowd. The children are doing well. I was impressed, as I usually am during PTC time, with the quality of the teachers and the extra effort they put in to understanding and appreciating and encouraging the differing personalities of my children.

I also thought what it would be like to get up and go to work every day, and I'm glad I don't have to. There are a lot of days that I want to do nothing. Is this my natural laziness kicking in, or effects of chemo? Hard to know. Then I realized that I actually do get up each day and go to work, because I am functioning, to a varying degree, as a mother and wife, which is my job. At least I don't have to dress up!

Jason left for Virginia today. I've been teaching him to knit. His first lesson was the knit stitch, and so I got out my circular needles and cast on 81 stitches and knit the first round, then showed him both methods I know, the Finnish way and the English/American way. He and I both thought that the E/A way is easier for beginners to grasp, so I demonstrated that way while talking him through it and then he knitted a hat for himself. I like the circular needles, because then you can just do the one stitch all the way and it comes out in stockinette (the v-shaped interlocking loops). He is very good at the knit stitch now. So last night Haruka drove us out to Wal-mart in Springville, after an abortive attempt to find what we wanted at the one in Orem, and we got Jason some needles to take with him, and I showed him how to cast on stitches and how to do the purl stitch, which is the only other stitch you need to know to knit. It's actually just a backwards knit stitch. So now his assignment is to purl himself a hat, after which he'll be really good at purling and we can have fun with patterns and colors and stuff.

Some time this week I finished Steve's llama hat with ear flaps, which I've knitted and ripped out and knitted and ripped out about four times before finally getting it right. Now I just need to line it with fleece like the one Nancy brought me. Mine has black monk cord tassels hanging down from the ear flaps. They look like braids! I'm wearing it as I type. Haruka and Chris immediately expressed interest in wearing knitted llamas on their heads also, so I took them down to Heindselman's. Haruka chose lime green and hot pink, and Chris choose a nice blue and said he'd like the same tan color I used on Steve's for his other color. I also found some orange-and-white striped yarn in the closeout basket, so I got it for socks for someone. I try not to buy more yarn than I have projects lined up for, so now I have to stop buying yarn because I have four projects worth of yarn and only one in progress.

Steve and I were planning to go to the temple, but we couldn't find his recommend. It wasn't in any of the places we thought to look. Paul came over while we were looking, with dinner from Mom, and offered to stay and herd children, so we went out anyway. We tried Olive Garden but the wait was 45 minutes, so we went where we probably wanted to go in the first place -- Bombay House. Daniel was there and we chatted for a few minutes. We tried one of their new dishes, which was very good but not my favorite. So funny how certain tastes become favorites and others don't. I was very grateful to be able to taste! I'd have to say that my favorites at Bombay House are the chicken tikka masala and the lamb korma, with the paneer saag coming in a close 3rd. In my next life, I will learn to cook like that.

I have found an apt poem. Copyright law prohibits my quoting this poem here. However, the ubiquitous Internet has provided some sites which have quoted it, so I will refer you to one that looks respectable:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=176300

Just replace he/him/his with she/her. And in the third stanza first line, replace 'Lug' with 'Slug'.

We have the flu. Jason spent some time by the porcelain throne Sunday morning, Joseph got it Sunday night, and Haruka carried it to her house and had it Monday morning. Bethany hasn't had to run to the bathroom, but she has been laying in bed clutching a mixing bowl, so she's not going to school either. Sariah stayed home a couple of days last week with unhappy innards. Steve said he was feeling yucky this evening, so I sent him to bed early, hoping that he'd get over it and not have to plan for a sub, which is almost as much work as actually going in to teach.

I was extremely careful when removing soiled sheets from Joe's bed in the night, and helping him shower and get clean pjs and spreading out the minimum clean bedding necessary, and getting him a mixing bowl. I washed my hands and arms up to the elbows with plenty of hot water and soap and sang the ABC song twice for good measure. Apparently Joe had another episode which Steve took care of in the night, because I awoke to find baking soda spread liberally in the hallway and Joseph on a sheet spread on the floor.

I know that I'm supposed to go to Aunt Amy's house to stay away from germs, but if I do, I don't know who will take care of the sickness chaos. Steve is perfectly capable and probably willing, but that brings us back to the substitute issue. I definitely don't want to give it to Mom's crowd if Haruka hasn't already. I am praying constantly that I won't get it, and I repeat the hand/arm washing ritual as often as I dare. No cracked bleeding hands yet. Whew. Thank the Lord that Chris and Nathaniel haven't shown signs of catching it.

We now have another baking soda spot on the family room floor. Steve learned this trick from a school custodian, who came in to sprinkle magic powder on his classroom carpet one day after a student hadn't followed the protocol of grabbing the trash can and running from the room, Steve's signal that sickness is imminent. He trains his classes every year to NOT come to him and say, "I feel si-UUUUURRRRRP!" Ick. Anyway, the custodian divulged that the main ingredient in his magic powder was baking soda -- it soaks up the liquid and takes away the smell, and you can leave it on the spot for a day or two and then vacuum it right up. Very handy.

This reminded me of the nasty flu episode right after Reuben was born, when everybody got it except Jason and me, even my mother who came to help, and we just kept washing sheets and hands and arms and praying fervently that we wouldn't get it. I was so worn out by the weekend, when Sariah had her baptism, that I could hardly walk. I remember liking my bed a lot after that week, too.

I should have known.

I should have seen that my fractious three-year-old would throw up yesterday evening when his older sister carried him into the bathroom because he complained that his stomach hurt. I should have known that since he was a mean young cuss all day, he didn't feel good.

Luckily Steve was awake to handle it, because I was leery of getting flu germs. I had to wake him up a couple of times in the night to deal with other episodes, praying all the while that the germs hadn't found me.

This morning, Reuben acted perfectly normal, kept down his 2-Tbsp-water-every-ten-minutes-for-an-hour and then his tortilla-chip-every-ten-minutes (in lieu of crackers because we had none), and did not throw up again.

I, however, was completely overwhelmed by the normal chaos and cacophony of Saturday-morning breakfast getting, and it was only 9 a.m. I went back upstairs.

Bapu called us to help unload the truck at 10. My contribution was sitting on a chair in the basement and pointing. The nice neighbor men and boys and my nice children all interpreted very well, so that when I unwisely walked down the hall and had to hold the walls on the way back to my perch, there was a clear path through the basement to the back bedroom, which will be Paul's starting on Monday, when he and Mom are slated to arrive in the pickup. I'm excited!

Apparently Reuben informed Bapu that he needed to go bowling because of his haircut, because Bapu obliged and took my children plus Jason, Nanika, and Haruka bowling after the truck was empty. I went to bed. I like my bed.

When Kathie and Dr. W. were giving me the chemotherapy roadmap talk, during which they outlined every possible side effect known to man and some specific to women, I got the idea that each treatment cycle would be similar to the previous one. Surprise! Every time is different.

This time around, I experimented with the anti-nausea drugs by not taking any. I didn't feel nauseated at all. I also did not have the overwhelming brain fog and head buzz I had last time. I did take the Claritin/Aleve combination Thursday evening when I noticed that my skin hurt when I rubbed my neck and my bones hurt when Steve hugged me.

I haven't been overly tired. In fact, I felt well enough today to drive over to the elementary school and mosey in to the library to be with Sariah during the Maturation Presentation, which I missed completely last year even though it was written down. She was not happy with me about that. Driving, walking, and sitting were entirely too much to deal with during cycle Number Two.

This time is Number Three, which means I have three left, which also means I counted wrong and my last treatment is around January 14 instead of Christmas as I have been telling everyone. Shucky darns.

Bethany and Abbie came here after school to work on birthday presents for a friend's party, and somehow Reuben heard them mention that the party involved bowling. This was a big mistake, because he suddenly remembered that Bapu had promised to take him bowling if he let me cut his hair, which he did. However, Bapu is in Illinois helping Paul and Mom pack belongings into a Giant Yellow Truck to drive here, stopping only once to sleep at a rest stop and shocking us all by calling us to help unload the truck eight hours before we begin to expect his arrival.

Reuben decided he was invited to the birthday party too. He was extremely upset when I didn't share this conviction, and proceeded to exhibit a most impressive screaming display, which was still going strong when we pulled into our driveway after dropping B and A at the party location.

He wouldn't let Nathaniel undo his carseat harness. He wouldn't let me undo his carseat harness. He ranted and raved about bowling for at least five minutes, at which time I went into the house to call for reinforcements, because I could tell that a) I would not be able to carry him into the house, and b) I was no longer able to put up with the emotional baggage he was flinging about.

Reuben screamed in the car while I drank a calming 500 mL of water (only 800 more to fill the daily quota) and tried to think who might be able to soothe the savage beast that had entered my son's body.

James.

He wasn't home, but said he could come in about fifteen minutes. Nathaniel came in to say that Reuben was now screaming for me. Lovely. I decided to go sit in the car and not say anything, because I didn't want to be sucked into the rant. Reuben did let me undo his carseat harness this time, but it turned out to be a mistake, because then his rant involved writhing around on me while screaming. At least I was sitting down.

James and Jason arrived at the same time. After some convoluted negotiations, James and I convinced him to let James carry him inside while I held his hand and Jason held the door. Then I sat on the couch and Reuben sat on my lap for another while before I noticed he was asleep.

I woke up sad today, for some reason. I cried in bed before Steve left, and then pulled myself together and helped the kids get off to school. Reuben wanted to call Bapu, and ended up asking to go play, which was fine with me. I didn't want to stay home crying, so I gathered up my library books and headed to the library. Note to self: brown van is out of tissues, or they have migrated to the back.

It's embarrassing to stand crying at the circulation desk while you wait for Jill to come up from her cubby office in the bowels of the cataloging room. I think she was surprised to see me, and to see the amount of tissues clutched in my fist, but she didn't say anything about it and I followed her back to her sanctuary, where she moved some boxes of books so I could sit and cry.

I am sick of being tired, and tired of being sick. I am pretty much useless right now -- I just lay around and sometimes shuffle downstairs to eat. I can't be my mom self very well, and I can't be my wife self very well, and although I'm doing fine at being my reading self, that's not much good to anyone. I needed a hug, and my mother is in Illinois. Jill gives pretty good hugs, though.

And she suggested that we go out to lunch, which sounded fun. It was.

I continued to cry off and on all day. I wasn't despairing, really, just sad. I guess this cancer treatment stuff is sad, but I'm glad I'm not weepy every day. Being cheerful is much more fun.

Reuben woke up one morning this week and said, "Mommy, we have the same haircut!" Sure enough, if his buzz was a little sparser and I had a little more hair in my buzz, we would in fact be haircut twins.

Yesterday we went to Layna's baptism. It was so exciting to see her dressed in white with a wonderful glow in her face. Afterward we went to the house for a brunch and CB said what a bummer it would have been if I had cut off all my hair and then hadn't lost any. Looking back, I don't think that would have mattered to me. I was at the point of feeling that if I had to have cancer, then I darn well wanted to look like I had cancer so people could see that I had cancer. I was not ready to hide away and brush it all under a rug or something.

It has been very interesting to notice that as people have learned I have cancer, how many have come forward to tell me about their experiences with cancer, either their own or someone they know. I had debated about going to one of the cancer support groups, and finally last Tuesday (Nov. 4) I went to one, after having Penelope flooded with iron (this has gotten much better, so now I don't jump and shriek when the nurse puts the access needle in the port). The ladies were all friendly, and we sat and talked in turn about how things were going and what we were dealing with, and then the door opened, and a friend of mine from Virginia walked in. She had moved here when we came back from Virginia, but I had not known she had had cancer, and she obviously didn't know that I had it now. It was strange for me, the new person in the group, to listen to their explanations of the side effects of treatment they were still dealing with, or people who had helped in one way or another, or feelings they had at last year's benefit concert. I don't know whether I will go to another support group, because I got a look at what happens beyond where I am now, and I am not sure I want to go there. I'm uncertain whether I have a choice.

Some people seem to completely get over cancer and never look back, except to share with me that they went through it. Others make it look like having cancer changed their whole lives and they are different people now. And from where I am now, I can't see the merging of what's happening now with what I will be because of this.

Penelope has been quite unhappy today, so I have spent most of the evening on the bed, hoping that whatever I did to cause this discomfort will reverse itself. Penelope is complaining on the right side of my body, and my left side is complaining because I think some of the nerves are healing and it hurts too. So no matter where Reuben wants to put his little head to snuggle with me, it's not going to work today.

Being germ-free is just about impossible, especially with children around. We have hand-washing regimens (sing the ABCs while you do) and no-coughing-on-mommy policies, but with four people in the house having runny noses, coughs and such I was bound to get something. Monday I was feeling lousy, with a sore throat and runny nose, and headache. Yesterday when I went to Dr. W's office for my iron shot I tried to locate a tissue box in every room because I'd used all the ones I had brought.

So I asked Steve and Jason to give me a blessing, which they did. Nanika called to see if I was going to dance Tuesday night, but I decided sleeping would help me feel better. And when I woke up today, I felt fine. No runny nose, no sore throat, no cough, no headache. In my opinion, a miracle. The shortest cold on record.

I have decided that since my Purple Port insists acting like a completely separate part of me in annoying ways, it should have its own identity. Therefore, I have named it Penelope. I forgot to tell Steve this fact until he was hugging me and I said, "Ouch, you're hurting Penelope," and he looked at me like I was insane, which of course I am. I think he's rather relieved that Penelope turned out to be made of plastic.

The other fun thing that happened this week is that on Monday, another package arrived for Mme. J. Hortensia, with HATS! A letter was included, which read, "Herein is the culmination of several evenings worth of effort and belabored discussion with heated opinions flaring from persons of many sizes and artistic sentiments. Fear not; after much tribulation cometh the unanimity. May you get your head around these and wear in peace. Dear regards, Your Far-off Beloveds." Thanks, Su, Naomi, Kent, and Jan!

[pictures coming]

I enjoy all the hats people have given me, because then it's like hairdos -- I can choose which one I want that day, depending on my mood and what else I'm wearing. It's not that I'm ashamed of my near-baldness, but it is getting cold outside, and sometimes my head is cold inside the house too! I never knew how much fun hats could be.

I woke up this morning and was enjoying the warmth of snuggling with Steve in bed, when a jolt of panic coursed from head to toe. I have only one week until my next treatment.

I am still tired today. Last treatment cycle, I was feeling quite well by this time. The new pattern is that I have a burst of energy and am able to act normally and then all of a sudden I am too tired. And while I am resting, my mind is going a mile a minute, planning all the things I want to and should do, but when I stand up, I find that my body doesn't want to fall in with my mind's plans. So this morning, I showered and washed my hair -- well, my head anyway-- and called to Steve that at least my hair wouldn't take all day to dry, and dressed and ate breakfast and badgered little boys to find their shoes. When it was time to go, my body said very firmly that under no circumstances was it willing to cooperate with any scheme involving walking. So we drove to church. What a waste.

Sitting in fast and testimony meeting was enough to convince my body that walking could be tolerated, so I was making my way to primary when Ann stopped me in the hall. She said that this morning Linford got up and was lounging and wiggling and moaning about being hungry, and she told him that he didn't have to fast, but that if he chose something or someone to fast for, then when he felt hungry he could think about that thing or person and it would help him fast. He was quiet for a minute and then asked, "Do people die from cancer?" Ann said that sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. Linford said, "Can I fast for Janice?"

I started crying at that point. It seems incredible that a little boy would even think about me when he was hungry, and be concerned that I might die, and decide to ask Heavenly Father to honor his fasting by blessing me. I feel humble that I am important to Linford. I know that other people are praying for me too, and I am amazed that I even matter to them, and that I matter to God, for I have been shown that I do.

Underlying everything that is happening right now is a core of strength inside that I know is not me. I use that strength and rely on it many times each day. The thought of doing what I'm doing without that core seems dark and cold and ominous. How do I matter to God that He would give me such a vital gift right at this time?

Choir practice was better this week. My eyes didn't lag behind and I could follow what was going on with less effort, but my hat was bugging me, so finally I just took it off. Barry's voice piped up from the back, "I love it when she plays with the top down." Everyone laughed. I can see the similarity, although I have no long tresses for the wind to blow when I'm "playing" with my convertible's top down!

Bapu and Haruka and James came to enjoy Chris's dinner with us. Chris and Steve had made the pies, and Chris made his favorite beef stroganoff, which we tripled. It wasn't enough, though, because when Nanika showed up, the pan was empty. Luckily, she was happy with pie. I was thrilled that the beef stroganoff tasted like beef stroganoff!