The Orem library called today to say that the check I mailed them to pay the overdue fines was written to Provo library instead. In the mail today I received a note from Provo library returning the check I had mailed to them to pay overdue fines because it was the check for the Orem library.

Funny, but I thought I checked each envelope to make sure the correct check was in the correct one with the correct letter.

Nathaniel's teacher called to ask if I was coming to parent-teacher conferences. I had scheduled an organ lesson at the same time. This was the second time I had rescheduled the organ lesson. Last time I had to write an apologetic note saying I had forgotten that I was supposed to present a lesson at the workshop Steve is teaching, because it was the same time and I had already paid for it, and take it to the student's house right before Chris took me to pick up the car from the shop so I could drive myself to the workshop so he could pick up Bethany from her clarinet lesson. The first time I had to reschedule because I completely forgot to go. I wasn't going to reschedule the organ lesson three times!

I also forgot which church I was supposed to meet my own organ teacher at, so when she wasn't at the one where I was waiting, I drove quickly to the elementary school close by to borrow the Internet connection to look at my email which said the address of the correct church. Five blocks west.

I have forgotten to take Reuben to preschool, and to pick him up. I have forgotten to make a lunch for Stephen in the morning. I have forgotten to brush teeth, to change out of pajamas, to have my kids do their homework or practice, to do laundry, to read scriptures, to go grocery shopping. I forget to change out of my slippers before I drive someone somewhere. I have forgotten to feed the chickens. I have forgotten to pick Nathaniel up from school, even after looking on the calendar and reading the note I had written there.

I remember perfectly the phone number we had when I was seven years old.

Hopefully the increased thyroid prescription will give me some energy, because nothing else has. I have become a shuffler. I throw on the same sweats and hoodie I wore yesterday and the day before that, shove my feet into my slippers, and shuffle downstairs to throw bowls and milk and spoons on the table so people can inhale something before I drive them to school because they are late because I couldn't make myself get out of bed to check if they were out of bed.

By that time, I'm so exhausted I have to read a book so I'll stay awake to make sure Joe gets to school instead of "taking care of Reuben while you sleep, Mom." Books are dangerous because they are so much easier than getting out all the bills to pay, or emptying the dishwasher or putting clothes in the washing machine or getting Reuben dressed so we can go shopping, since the food in the house consists of cold cereal and tortillas that dried out because somebody ripped the bag and I didn't notice. Books are good because they help me mask my frustration with my body, mind, and energy level.

By the time I remember to feed the chickens, I have noticed that my forehead hurts, not enough to be called a headache; the pain is lurking just above my eyebrows, as though there were a cloud over my brain right there, pushing to get out. Pressure. It is hard to think.

Where did all that energy I had during the summer go? I know I felt good a couple of weeks ago. Did the wedding really wipe me out for two weeks? Or was it taking care of sick kids and trying not to catch their germs?

I decided today that I can't help at the school, because I can't even make myself get dressed to take Reuben to preschool; I've gone in pajamas three times in one week! I don't necessarily feel depressed. Just hollow.

My plan is this: go to bed as soon after 9 as people finish their homework. Drink lots of water. No skipping breakfast or lunch--eat as soon as I remember it is mealtime. Concentrate on one household chore a day. Start dinner in the morning. Rest.

I can do things if I do them slowly. Steve is glad I'm still here. I am glad I'm still here. The kids are glad I'm still here, even if I do make them practice and do homework and dishes. Even if I'm on slow-mo permanently.

I made the mistake, when I went to my appointment at the Cancer Center today, of sitting in direct line-of-vision to the treatment room. And then I made the mistake of not moving when I noticed that I could see where I used to sit in a blue vinyl recliner with an IV stand next to me and the icy colorless cocktail dripping into my chest.

Moment of panic--they're going to come get me and say, "Sorry! We were wrong! Your cancer is back. Let's hook you up, girl!"

The guy in scrubs came to fetch me and neither he nor Shirley the nurse practitioner said those words. I asked Shirley about calling the surgeon to get Penelope removed, and she said I could do it; their office doesn't make those calls.

So guess what I did when I got home? Yep. My appointment with the surgeon is Nov. 19.

It is now officially one year and 20 days since I began chemotherapy. It seems so foreign to me, so far away from my current reality. I still know that I went through it, but I am very happy to forego that experience this October. When I hear myself griping about something, I think, "But I'm here! Why am I complaining?"

Paradoxically, now that I have hair, I am irritated by it. One Saturday a few weeks ago, I couldn't take the pressure any more and I called every hair salon in Provo until I found one with an appointment immediately so I could get my hair cut. I assume that I will slowly grow used to it, and I always have hats to use on Bad Hair Days!

I am taking organ lessons, and emailed my teacher a couple of weeks ago to say that I had been sick and so could not have a lesson. I didn't explain that I had had a horrible cold, which I now think was actually Swine Flu, and that it had taken me nearly two weeks to feel better. She panicked, because her daughter died from the effects of cancer a year or so ago, and she and her husband had just returned from a memorial service held in her daughter's honor in Colorado [the daughter was a firefighter and had her name on the memorial stone for the year]. She pictured all of that happening to me, apparently. I am so happy that it hasn't!

Reuben is having his stuffed dogs snuggle on my shoulder. I am wearing my fuzzy purple robe and pink slippers, and I'm ignoring the chickens. After I'm done here I will go sew and ignore the dishes! More and more cousins keep appearing, as this is the Week Of Wedding [only three more days, James and Nicole!]

I love chaos and noise. I love ignoring housework. I love having my phone fixed because Otto came yesterday to analyze wires and accidentally broke a toy bin by attempting to stand on it. I love braiding Sariah's clean wet hair. I love hearing Jane's voice on the answering machine saying that Ian is in Reuben withdrawal and needs a fix. I love opening a gray velvet box from Frank and finding a Damascus steel pendant he made. I love impending dart gun wars. I love hearing Jazon gripe about reports for work. I love running into Marianne and Julia and Jared at concerts. I love reading my book in the car as Nathaniel and I wait for the bus to come. I love kissing my husband before he is late to work because he forgot he had a meeting at 7 a.m. and we snuggled in bed instead.

Had a follow-up with the radiation people yesterday. They agree with me that I am amazing. I don't really mean that the way it sounds. The good facts:

1) I have no pain in my bones.
2) I have no lumps.
3) I do not have headaches or fuzzy vision.
4) My radiation scars are healing.
5) I do not have big bruises that don't go away.
6) I have energy.
7) I am able to eat normally.
8) I am not bleeding unaccountably.

We also discussed hair. And Penelope. And the possibility of removing Penelope. And children in preschool. And thyroid gland removal [hers]. I weigh 150-something.

I also snuck back to see Gary and Brooke in the tech room. The picture of Brooke and me in an outrageous hat on my graduation day is still up. They were just coming back from lunch, but at least I got to say hi and make small talk for a minute. I miss them. But I don't really want to go see them every day for radiation therapy.

My hair is getting long enough to be annoying. I trimmed the bits in front of my ears by myself a couple of Sundays ago because I couldn't stand the sticking-out business. And now I'm bothered by the bushiness on top. Ironic that I'm irritated by hair so soon after being so excited that it was growing again.

I played the organ for Ken's funeral yesterday morning. My tribute to him is that all during my cancer treatments and surgeries and doctor's visits and feeling yucky, people would tell me how wonderfully courageous I was being, and I would think, "This is nothing compared to what Ken is doing and has done for the last 20 years." My goal was to face it all like Ken and Leslie did. And now Ken is free from MS! Congratulations to Leslie! I hope I get to know Ken better in heaven.

I can't remember how I used to do it. How did I get all the kids off to school before I had cancer? How did I think up dinner menus? How did I get everyone to do their chores before I had cancer? How did I ever get all this laundry done? I have a yawning space in my chronological memory, and I'm standing on this side with my toes at the edge, squinting over to the other side trying to see what that Me is doing, but I can't quite make it out.

I'm not even good at buying groceries anymore. Reuben and I went to the store this morning (or was it yesterday?). The list was minimal and basic -- milk, yogurt, bread, shredded cheese, tortillas, etc. Reuben rode in a car cart, and when we got to the check-out stand, the checker gave him a balloon because he was helping put the items on the conveyor belt. He chose green. As I was attaching it to his wrist, the gray-haired lady bagger said, "What happened to your long hair?"

I must have stared blankly at her, because she said, "Didn't you used to have long black hair, really long?" So I explained that I had had cancer treatments and my hair had all fallen out, and this was how it had grown back. "Oh," she said, "it wasn't curly before, so I wondered. What kind of cancer?" So I told her, and she said that her mother had died from pancreatic cancer, and could she help me take my groceries out to the car? "No," I said, "I'm fine, thanks."

On the way to the car, it seemed amazing that the bagger had recognized the current Me as the same body as the previous Me with long hair. She knew who I was. And she hadn't apologized, the way some people do when I tell them, as though they were suddenly ashamed of having asked a question that prompted such an answer. Or as though they wished I hadn't answered it at all, but used some euphemism instead.

I'm not a euphemistic person. I have cancer, and so I will tell people when a small-talk question unexpectedly reveals deeper issues. I am not embarrassed about it; it isn't some secret that I have to hide, but I'm not going to run ads in prominent newspapers either. I've discovered that cancer is ubiquitous; it pops up everywhere I go, everywhere I look, in whatever I read or whomever I talk to. Did I just never notice before?

When I got home and was throwing the grocery list away, I noticed that I had forgotten to buy laundry soap and bread, even though they were right there on the page. And later when I was on my marathon 7-hour taxi driver back-and-forth-with-different-kids-each-time stint, I caught myself thinking, "How on earth did I used to schedule things so I could be home to make dinner?"

I know, I know. I should have warned you that I was taking a hiatus. It was unintentional, however, and I have only fleetingly realized I was neglecting to write, because summer is not the calm time I remember as a child. I was very busy. So, here is a condensed version:

End of May: I feel good enough to go to Haruka's graduation (5/29) and I cheer loudly for everyone I remotely know. I am so thrilled when Marianne's son Paul walks that I almost cry. We sign up for the summer reading program (5/30) and Bethany and I attend the first pottery lesson. Fun, and harder than it looks.

June: Steve leaves for Philmont at 5 (6/1), Sariah starts swim team at 6 and Chris has to be at work in Heber by 7. Thanks to Dad and Nanika for being me in other cars taking them places. Welcome to summer! I become a taxi driver: swim team, cello lessons, pottery class, play practice, clarinet lessons, music rehearsals, doctor's appointments, Irish dancing, trombone lessons, swim lessons. I also become the Master Scheduler: piano lessons, baseball, tennis, work, parent meetings, cousins playing, scouts, Steve's summer job teaching workshops. I start practicing the organ while Sariah is at swimming because I have just enough time to do all my exercises before I have to go pick her up.

Compared to cancer treatments, this is a whirlwind! But I feel good, I have energy, and my hair is starting to look nice. Reuben has double hernia surgery (6/16), Bethany and I make shirts for her fellow castmembers of Much Ado About Nothing (6/23), which is very funny and involves several people falling in a kiddie pool disguised as a fountain. I ignore all invitations to cancer-survivor-activities. It becomes pottery summer: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday - somebody has a class. We make whistles, bowls, elephants, turtle bowls, butter dishes, mushrooms. Monique lends me a pottery wheel for the summer and gives me some pointers. I'm supposed to practice 2 hours every day. HA! We take Chris to Stake Youth Conference late (6/19) and decide that Heber Valley Camp would be a great venue for our next family reunion. Nathaniel has Day Camp (6/25). We spend a day at IKEA with the Alice Anne and her daughters (6/26) and attend Nicole's first temple session. We head to SLC for the Coleman Reunion (6/27), where we see Steve's uncle who is also dealing with cancer. I feel guilty because I look like I'm doing better than he is right now. I see Dr. Wallentine's post-treatment nurse practitioner [I think her name is Shirley] and she says the blood work looks good (6/29). I ask what to watch for and she says pain that doesn't go away and doesn't move around. I ask what "good" blood work means, and she says it doesn't predict anything, but lets them see that nothing squirrelly is going on. Not very comforting, but then I'm pretending that I'm well, so it doesn't matter. Girls leave for camp (6/30) and we play games with the Robinsons at Snowbird.

July: Joe heads to Day Camp (7/1), Reuben has a post-op. We celebrate Steve's parents' 50th wedding (7/3) and the Robinsons bring "Something strange is afoot at the Circle K" t-shirts for everyone. Blais takes a million pictures. I have my first after-cancer mammogram (7/6), and it is clean! We go to Logan (7/8) to play while Steve teaches; we find a small zoo at a park [entry fee 50 cents per child, dollar per adult] and the favorite thing is feeding the ducks and watching the turtles; I find a great dress at the sidewalk sale and Sariah is shocked at the cost, but Steve insists that since it's the first dress I have purchased in about 15 years, I should buy it; we swim; we try to go to the temple but it's closed for construction. We extract honey (7/11) and end up with at least 10 gallons! We go to the Jacobson reunion (7/13) and Steve's ice cream and sorbet are hits [thanks to Pat for the sorbet recipe]. Nathaniel informs me that he can't eat that for dinner because he is a vegetarian; I wonder how he can eat regularly last night and then suddenly be vegetarian today (7/14).

I decide that since I'm so over the cancer thing, I'm going to take organ lessons and pass off the requirements for Level I and start on Level II before the organ workshop in August. Steve and I start walking up the Big Hill in the mornings and I am amazed to find that I am in better shape now than I was the spring before cancer! I can make it up the hill without dying.

Su & co. arrive and we miss the quilt show but make it up by doing sealings for my father's great-grandfather, after getting somewhat lost taking Nathaniel to his first orthodontist appointment (7/15). I have my first organ lesson and pass off nearly everything for Level I assignment 1 (7/24). We see Steve's Uncle David and family for July 24th picnic. The dentist costs so much that we only do Steve and Nathaniel. We discover that if you get to the Veteran's Pool 45 minutes before closing, they let you in free. I drive Haruka to USU to turn in proof of residency and see a dorm room and measure it (7/30). We see a Cafe Rio for lunch and celebrate. On the way home, I crash into the back of a car which then crashes into the car in front of it. I am cited for improper lookout and we make it to Harmon's in Orem in time to notice that oil is dripping from the engine. Nanika rescues us and I confess all to Dad. My first ticket in six years. I cancel my second organ lesson because of lack of practice time.

August: The organ workshop is fantastic, of course (8/4-7). Bonnie Goodliffe, tabernacle organist, is the keynote speaker. She cites the Dear Abby article in which a man inquired whether Abby thought he should enroll in medical school even though it would take seven years and he'd be 42 when he got done. Abby's answer: How old will you be in seven years if you don't go to medical school? Bonnie also talks about learning poco a poco, and how much we can get done if we just plug away at it. Do I sense a theme here?

I have a great time seeing my organ friends, most of whom ask about the new hairdo, so I tell them why and they join me in being glad that I'm still around. I find out that I remember a lot more music theory than I thought, and I have fun trying out the interesting organs in the practice rooms. I have a private lesson and play for a master class. I get answers to some mysteries about the organ in my church. I remember why I love learning so much! I feel energized and excited!

While I'm learning and growing, the kids are seeing the eye doctor. Chris is the only one who needs new lenses, and since he broke his glasses earlier this week, we don't mind so much. We help clean the church (8/8). Kaylie and I meet at the DI to chat while Anna buys dishes etc. for school (8/10). I love how you can see a friend once in four years and it feels like you saw her just last month--everything flows. Nathaniel gets his upper braces on (8/12) and I spend my first evening since cancer volunteering at the music/dance library, cataloging. I've forgotten some things but not so much that I panic. I have fun! Got Penelope flushed with saline solution, and helped Su & co. move stuff from the shed to the garage (8/13) in preparation for their next move, to Kim's town! Since the church is off-limits because the carpets are being cleaned, I call several people to try to get keys to use another organ to practice. I finally get keys, after getting lost three times trying to find the address. I unlock the church, but the chapel is locked. I locate a chapel key, but the organ is locked. I find a key in the bench! to unlock to organ, but can't find the power switch. Finally see that the power is turned on with a key, which is luckily in the lock already! After that, the practice session was a breeze.

Today: I thought it would be a calm day. I'd better stop thinking that, because it never is. Overseeing practicing, paying bills, getting chicken eggs, and talking to Kim on the phone [at last after a week of phone tag] took most of the morning. Then I took Nathaniel to cello, and went grocery shopping with my mother. When we were done, I had only 15 minutes before I had to leave for my organ lesson, at which I passed off the rest of Level I assignment 1 and most of Level I assignment 2. Unfortunately, I wasn't watching the clock, so I had to call Nanika to take Sariah to her dance class and then I drove and met her there to bring her home. Her class went 15 minutes over, so I had to rush home, draw a map for Chris and Bethany, and get Chris to drive me to meet Steve and his parents for dinner. Whew!

It's been a fun summer, and I'm ready for school to start, except for the shopping for clothes part. That's tomorrow.

And, for all of you who are wondering, I'm not planning to grow my hair out again. Having short hair is too much fun and too easy. Besides, it makes my dangly earrings look even better :)

Sometimes I can feel the unwillingness inside me, just like a big lump in my stomach. In Finnish, it's "jaksaa"--officially described in the dictionary as "to have the intestinal fortitude to...." [pronounce it yahk-sah]

En jaksaa. I realized today that having children is helping me, in one specific way. Probably lots of ways, but one important way right now. They make me get out of bed and do things I don't want to do.

If I didn't have children, I would have stayed in bed all day today. Slept, or read escapist fiction sans people dying of cancer, or stared up at the ceiling and reminisced. I would not have had Reuben sit on my lap while eating breakfast, as he does daily, because I didn't jaksaa to actually eat anything. I would not have gotten dressed. I would most definitely not have gone to the school for the second grade Hawaiian fest and watched Joe clunking painted dowels on the floor and then on his partner's dowels while singing incomprehensible Hawaiian words and wearing Nathaniel's Hawaiian shirt, looking very much as though he belonged on a beach and a surfboard.

Is this depression? Feeling like everything is too hard, requires too much effort, is overwhelming, is not tasty, or interesting, or worth expending energy? I know that Dr. Clark and his nurse mentioned depression as normal during radiation, and I know other cancer survivors have said that it took six months, eight months, a year before they felt better. My body feels better, but my jaksaa doesn't.

Maybe my children are saving me from sinking deeper. I enjoy interacting with them, and with my husband and my mom and my friends. I know I sound cheerful when I talk to people, because that makes me feel cheerful. And I do manage to do things. Some things. So hurrah for children!

Choosing books from the library is now, apparently, somewhat less dangerously akin to picking my way through a minefield. Inside a specimen with a nice innocent title like "Candles on Bay Street" lurks plot themes such as dying from cancer. I don't like such plot themes just now, for some reason. I do not wish to cry and picture what might have been me.

To be fair, this is the first such theme to mar one of my selections for several weeks. I do remember a week in the not-so-hazy past when three or four of my selections were so unfortunately endowed, however, and I remember being quite frustrated. Perhaps that's why I've been sticking to old favorites lately. Now that I think of it, that particular plot theme has not ever been high on my list.

I think I'm justified in my aversion to this theme. I think that's why the Cancer Support Group that meets Tuesdays at 11 saw me only once. I would like to actively hate this theme for quite a long time to come.

Where are all the books with the had-it-fought-it-now-I'm-picking-up-the-pieces-and-moving-ahead plot? Perhaps authors think there's not enough dramatic scope, nothing literary or gripping about happy endings, not enough hook. Let me tell you -- I'm pretty hooked on that plot line!

Yesterday Reuben wanted me to cut his hair, so we took the piano stool out to the back patio, because the weather was nice. He said he didn't want the "buzzy thing" but I was supposed to use the "big scissors". I was amazed -- he actually sat still the whole time, and didn't even whine for the spray bottle.

When he was all snipped, we went upstairs to shower him and I put him up on the counter so we could see both of us in the mirror together, and he said, "Now we are hair twins!" Sure enough, even though the color difference remains, and his is cut more precisely around the ears. I think I am going to have a trim so that I can continue to be Reuben's hair twin for a while.

Elisabeth lives close enough to her church building to walk. It was still raining; Elisabeth and I went a little early because she's the ward librarian. We skipped Sunday School to talk about how to organize the library better. After church, we made our stew and ate it, and then we took the bus and a train over to Harlem to visit some of Lizzie's friends.

Being here with Lizzie is so peaceful. I am enjoying every minute. I do miss Steve and the kids, but I feel as though I am soaking up serenity, sitting in the calm, finding joy in just being. It's so nice to be alive. A week or so ago Jazon told us that Don, a man who used to live nearby and who was having treatment the same time as me, had died. I felt guilty, because I don't know why I get to stay and he had to go; or should I say why I have to stay and he got to go? Nevertheless, I am here, and I am happy about it!

Having this time by myself feels rejuvenating. Even though I'm still a mom and wife, it feels like I get to be Janice for a while, like I did when I was in graduate school and would go to the university for a week each semester. It gives me a second wind somehow.

Farmer's Market! By Inwood Park. Liz took me this morning and we bought Danishes, muffins, and scones for breakfast, and stuff for stew and a salad for tomorrow. Then we took a train into the city to Foley Square to do a recorded interview at a StoryCorps booth. We enjoyed ourselves and talked about all the things we remembered doing together. We had to fill in gaps for the poor redheaded facilitator. The Library of Congress keeps a copy of the recordings and gives one to the participants -- Liz has ours.

We wandered into Chinatown, which was horrendously crowded, and stopped in at a great 5-story art supply store, where I purchased origami paper for Joe and Nathaniel and beautiful handmade paper for Bethany. Then we went to Pearl River, an Oriental department store, where I found paper lanterns for Chris and a metal lunchbox for Steve, a bun-spearing stick for Nika and a "teenaged punk rock rhinoceros" for Paul. Liz went to an art thing at the Manhattan church building and I went across to Brooklyn Heights to meet Naomi!

We haven't seen each other for at least 10 years, probably more like 15. We had a great time walking around her neighborhood, where there are some amazing buildings and a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge. We talked and talked and talked and walked across the bridge with all the other tourists, and then she took me to a Spanish restaurant for delicious creamed spinach and chicken while she had octopus. Liz met us there, and when Naomi had to go, we took a picture. I miss her!

Liz discovered she no longer had her cell phone so we called her number, and when we heard no ringing from her person and bag, we retraced her steps to Central Park. No phone. We eventually called Dave, and within half an hour or so, we were able to contact the girl who had her phone. Liz had left it on the bench and the couple sitting next to her didn't speak English very well, so they took it with them to the restaurant where they were to meet their daughter, who did speak English. Whew!

Elisabeth had an appointment near Union Square this morning, so we took oranges and granola bars on the train and agreed to meet at a restaurant afterwards. The used bookstore I wanted to see was just a block or two off Union Square. They weren't open yet, so I continued along the street, looking for a drugstore, because even though I took allergy medicine, I still needed tissues. After a couple of blocks it started to rain a little. Some people, me included, pulled out umbrellas. Others hunched their shoulders, or held a newspaper over their heads. I stopped under a canopy and was looking at Elisabeth's NFT book, when a man came out of a shop nearby and asked if I was lost. When I explained, he pointed down the block and there was a pharmacy! He was so nice!

After visiting the pharmacy, I started back toward the Strand Bookstore (18 Miles Of Bookshelves) and there were still 5 minutes till opening time so I went into a shoe store and played my favorite trick of asking if they carry women's size 12. They did! They had a nice sandal and a kind of loafer. I tried them on and they were great, but *gulp* even with the buy-one-get-one-half-price sale, it would have been $180. Used bookstores are more comfortable for my wallet anyway.

By this time, I had decided to buy a gift for everyone at home because it made the browsing have a purpose, and it was so fun to find the perfect thing -- or at least something I knew they would enjoy. I found a Peanuts collection for Chris and a Jeff Shaara book for Steve just as Elisabeth called to say she was finished with her meeting and was heading to the rendezvous. Obviously, cell phones were invented for New York so that you can actually speak to people, because no one stays home to answer their phones.

Elisabeth was waiting inside Chocolate by a Bald Man. They have big vats of chocolate at the front, with pipes coming out, which carry chocolate across the ceiling to the side wall by the kitchen. The pipes are brown with "100% pure chocolate" stenciled in yellow. There is even a chocolate dispenser thing with dials and knobs. Very Willy Wonka.

I chose waffles with bananas and chocolate, strawberries, blueberries, and vanilla ice cream on the side. Liz had crepes. Our plates had little beakers of chocolate sauce on them! Very yummy. Liz left for work and I paid the check by giving it to the wrong person, who gave it to the right person, who brought it back to me in what looked like a metal cookie tin and the register slip had a place for the tip so that I had to put the money back I had just taken out. Comedy of errors. I then found a UPS store to mail the presents, because it is such fun to get packages in the mail and it is not fun to carry lots of packages on the airplane.

I then went to Filene's Basement to browse, and sat in one of their armchairs by the big windows overlooking Union Square, and delved into the NFT to see how to get to the BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music) to buy tickets to see the Trisha Brown Dance Company with Elisabeth.

Took the R train and followed BAM signs to a corner with a parking lot, behind which was a wide white building which said Opera House. I decided to go in and ask, and ta da! It was the right place. After buying tickets, I asked for a restroom and was referred to the security guard, who asked for my ID and gave me a pass. Elevator to third floor, turn right, second door on the right. I forgot to give the pass back until the guard asked for it. Looked at the exhibits. There was one that said it was made of ink and resin, and when you looked at it from the front, the ink made a tree, but from the side you couldn't see anything. The ink was somehow suspended inside the resin block. Very intriguing.

I went back to browsing shops on 5th Avenue. In one kids' shop I found puddle stomping boots in the shape of alligators which I thought Reuben would love, but then I turned a corner and spied a ukelele hanging in a shop window across the street. The only ukes I've seen in ProvOrem are prohibitively priced. Lulu's even gift-wrapped it! Next I entered Beacon's Closet, a secondhand shop Matt and Judith liked when they were here. They had a row of boots, and knowing that no shop ever has my size in boots, I admired them and found a brown pair that said 12W. Tried them on. Great fit. $18. Amazing!

"Vintage" seems to either mean old stuff that had been cleaned/fixed up to look nearly new, or something that uses such things in making something new. Cog and Pearl, for example, offered spiderwebs dipped in silver and somehow attached to smooth, flat polished black stones. Also antique books made into journals by slicing off the binding and removing some pages and replacing them with new blank paper, and then rebinding them with plastic coils. They were charging $15, and I thought I might as well make my own.

Another shop had glassware and pottery and I thought of Sariah's bottle collection. I found a bottle with a narrow neck and a wide base, sealed with a cork, with tiny blank message rolls inside. I also found some earrings of glass blobs on top of bits of paper printed Japanese/Chinese characters, which were magnified by the blobs -- Haruka.

This is so fun! I ordinarily DON'T shop, for the simple reason that you spend less money that way. I promise to return to sanity next Tuesday.

I went into another shop because of its name -- Leaf and Bean -- and discovered what must have been an old bookshop or something. The shelves were built into the walls and had number plates above them. There was a metal rail along the top, with a ladder attached to it by rollers. At the back of the shop were antique scales and registers and things.

I finally found postcards at a paper store which also sold already sharpened pencils, and when I emerged it was raining hard. Little baskets or pails full of umbrellas for sale mysteriously appeared in nearly every shop. I already had one. Wandering rather quickly over toward 6th Avenue, I found a branch library to sit in and write postcard messages to the family. The nice librarian directed me to a nearby post office, because I had forgotten to buy enough postcard stamps. I had to stand in the 15-min-to-closing-time-rush but got them mailed before 5.

On our way to BAM for the performance, we stopped to eat dinner at a very narrow restaurant with a garden seating area at the back, which we didn't sit in because of the rain. We had paninis [fancy grilled sandwiches], strawberry lemonade, and Belgian fries [the true origin of French fries, apparently]. Go Jan!

Steve called to say the red van will cost $800 to fix, and that Joe placed 2nd in the 2nd grade division of the elementary school's 5K race -- 58th in the whole school. His energy has been well-focused today. As for the van, this seems to be the tax-return trend, so Huzzah for our tax return, which came last Tuesday.

We really enjoyed the dance performance. I didn't like the first piece, although the concept of having the dancers on a wall with holes in it and using the holes to move around was quite interesting. Unfortunately, it also featured a badly focused strange black-and-white movie with obnoxious sounds in it which was projected onto said wall containing dancers. Distracting. Annoying. Sleep-inducing. The other three pieces were much better. The second was accompanied by various strings overlaid by a woman's voice reading a long something in a European language [Polish?]; dancers in white, choreography crisp and precise. The third had only women, again in white, and four backdrops on which black and white still photos were projected, from left to right; no music; dancers stayed amazingly together, and stayed a specified distance from each other so that when one danced out of view, another entered from the opposite wing--it looked like you saw the dancers inside the curtains but there were others outside the curtains dancing along too. The fourth piece actually had color: gray, cream, rusty orange; opera music; a lot of interdependent dancing, lifts, balances, moving groups, pushing off each other. Fantastic.

Afterwards, Liz and I walked along Flatbush Avenue to have cheesecake at Junior's, and then we went home.

Elisabeth lives on the fourth floor. There's a buzzer and an intercom on the steps outside her building. When I got out of the taxi, which cost exactly what she had told me it would, I called her to ask which apartment, and she buzzed me in. Reminded me of Blue Ridge Shores in VA, only there is was buzzing cars through the entrance gate.

The halls are blue; the stairs have white treads; her doormat is shaped like a paw.

We agreed that I would meet Elisabeth at work at 4 pm to go to the temple, so she gave me the keys and showed me how to lock/unlock. She had me look out the livingroom window at the giant cows and chicken which grace the roof of the grocery store. I went there after washing up the dishes, to buy lunch things for me and dinner ingredients for tonight.

She also gave me directions to her office, neatly drawn and labelled on paper, and her "Not For Tourists" guide to NY, which is very handy and includes things like where to go the bathroom and where you can find post offices and drugstores. I bought a subway pass and was off!

I walked down 5th Avenue in Brooklyn to 16th Street, over to 7th Avenue, and back up to Union, where I cut over to 5th Avenue to her office. I just browsed in shops. They have quite a few vintage/secondhand shops, very neat and tidy with well-chosen things. There are also consignment shops, which are apparently like a year-round-yard-sale-in-a-shop, but very orderly with well-presented merchandise. I bought a pair of pearl-drop earrings (doubt they're real) because I accidentally left at home the ones I thought I'd packed and I tend to feel undressed without earrings. Especially with my man-haircut.

Surprise, surprise! I walked right past Chickpeas, Hailie's old preschool! It struck me then that Elisabeth works in the same neighborhood Sunitha and David used to live in. I remembered passing the hospital Sunitha did her residency in, and checked in the NFT guide. Sure enough -- there was Prospect Park. I also recognized the Barnes and Noble and a couple of bus stops we stood at eight years ago.

After I made it to the office and met Roberto, we headed to the temple, and I recognized bits of Manhattan. I am having a lot of fun, and being here with Elisabeth is very restful and interesting.

I'm on a plane headed to NY via Chicago. I decided before I started chemo that after I was done with treatments I would take a trip to visit Elisabeth, so here I am!

I have been having fun doing dishes, laundry, and cleaning the house. Kind of shocking, but when you consider that I've just finished 8 months of forced inactivity in that regard, it makes more sense. I was a little worried that so much time to lie around reading might make me love it so much I'd just want to keep it up, but apparently I don't.

Last week I scrubbed the tub. Watching the grime disappear, and feeling energetic the whole time, and not needing to lie down afterwards was a real treat. In addition, I have taken the moral stance that Reuben & I have to do a job first, and then we can do something fun, and then we do another job and something else fun. I find that I like this too. On Monday it worked really well, because Reuben had thrown Legos around the toy room, and the sleeping bags I'd aired out after the Disneyland/Beach camping trip were still laying in there. Within an hour we had the place entirely clean, and then we played Candyland!

Several people have had a quick 24-hr flu lately. Yesterday the only people who went to school were Steve, Chris, and Joe. So far Reuben, Chris and I haven't succumbed, and I'm praying that I'm not carrying it with me to Elisabeth, and that Jazon won't have to deal with more of it at home.

My hair now covers my head, no bare scalp showing, and is long enough to comb, part, and it brushes my ears. Never having had hair this short [at least since I have been old enough to care], I am wondering what to do with it. I don't think I want to spend nine years growing it out long again. Maybe New York will inspire me.

Today at church, Marci told me that Alex had seen me out riding bikes with Reuben. He came home quite excited and told her, "And Mom -- she has hair now!!!! It grew back!!"

That's how I feel about it, too. Happy happy happy.

Skyped with Schneve yesterday. Salient points were:

1. Now that I've graduated, I'm on "hover" mode. This means they want me to come in every three months or so for tests but we don't really know anything.
2. Since they took out my lump, there hasn't been time for any rogue cancer cells which may remain after being poisoned and burned to grow big enough to see. Therefore, I have blood tests as a form of "looking for weird things that tell us to look more closely", and I have two mammograms a year to keep eyes on anything unidentifiable and growing.
3. Hair lengths sound better in metric. Saying my hair is 1.3 cm sounds a lot longer than .5 inches. 13 mm sounds even longer. [I did actually measure my hair. Only 10 mm]
4. Not only have I been balder than Schneve, I have been balder than James, Paul, and David put together. Notice who didn't go bald in honor of me.
5. How strange it is that we as parents get stuck eating the yucky cereal, because we never stop to think that it might be on sale because it tastes lousy and no kid would eat it.
6. I shouldn't feel badly about the kids not getting the chores done, because my voice is gone and I couldn't yell. I should have used an alternative to yelling. Schneve once heard someone say "That wooden spoon was on my a*se more than it was ever in a saucepan." Actions speak louder than words anyway. Note to self: buy new wooden spoons, as most of mine have migrated to the sand box.
7. I should tell my children who complain about their lack of clean clothes that they wouldn't have to wash their clothes as often if they wore them first right side out and then right side in. A good missionary trick. Also works for dishes: eat off the top of the plate, then turn it over for dessert.
8. If you have to ask what Reuben is doing the blowdryer, you really don't want to know.

Be It Declared That
JANICE BUNKER
Has completed the prescribed course of radiation therapy with the
highest degree of courage, determination, and good nature on March 26th, 2009.
We appreciate the confidence placed in us and the opportunity to serve you.
Utah Valley Cancer Center
Department of Radiation Therapy

This is what my certificate says, which I was presented today, along with a bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider.

I gave them an aloe vera plant and told them to name it Olivia. I also wore my last outrageous hat from KC and her grandmas, and Brooke took a picture of me because Marcie wasn't there and we thought she would be sad to miss the hat.

I now have quite a lovely triangle sunburn that covers my left collarbone, part of my neck, and my shoulder. The Biafine burn cream helps immensely, and I have refilled the prescription once. The size the prescription called for is huge, so I asked for one half that size, and now I wish I had the big one, because I think I will actually use it all. The burn actually feels hot most of the time, and the cream cools it down and takes away the pain. The area around my left breast is also burned, but not nearly so badly.

Reuben has forgotten how to be careful of my aches, so I try to be patient when I remind him. And I think everyone thinks I am back to being my old self, because I certainly feel as busy as my old self, although I'm sure I don't move as quickly as my old self, and I know I don't get as much done as my old self. I try to rest at least once a day, but we all know how that usually turns out. Sleeping is a little hard with the sunburn because I keep waking myself up when I shift position and feel the burn again.

I'm so glad this is only temporary.

Today Reuben went to Jane and Jaren's. He loved it! Ian and baby Janice were so fun to play with. Jane was nice enough to feed me lunch and we talked, and then since Reuben didn't want to come home, she said he could stay until kids started coming home from school. Another good friend I don't see enough of. I won't feel guilty, because what good will that do?

Grumpy! After I had radiation, I waited in the little room. The nurse came to get me, and then they always weigh me. As we were walking down there, Dr. Clark asked how I was, and I told him that I felt grumpy, and he asked why, and I just said general wrong-side-of-the-bed type, the kind you wake up with and don't know what is causing it. I stepped on the scale, and it read 225 lbs., and I turned around and Dr. Clark had his toe on the scale! Naughty man. He was trying to cheer me up, I know.

I told him about the way my throat feels, and he and Kathy both decided it must be because of the radiation, so they called Marcie in and we decided I have to incline my head to the right rather than looking straight up. Dr. Clark is always nice, and we had a good talk about kids and reading and life in general.

It is amazing how much of the day one little appointment takes. It seems like all I do, after sending kids to school, is to get myself ready for radiation, get Reuben to a babysitter, go to radiation, pick Reuben up, and then it's lunch time, and then Chris gets home. And although I do have energy to do at least one other thing during the day, it is most often making dinner. So what else do I do? That doesn't seem like enough stuff to logically fill my day up, but I don't get anything else done. At least I feel good enough to do things rather than staying in bed all the time. Even doing dishes seems fun.

James brought Nicole and Kira to the Jordan's yesterday for our usual Fast Sunday dinner. During dessert, Nicole told me a funny thing. Kira has one of those plastic Belle dolls (from Disney's Beauty and the Beast) that have flexible plastic hair and clothing and accessories. She came to Nicole asking where the hair was because she couldn't find it. After looking in all the places they could think of, they still hadn't found the hair, and Kira was getting a little upset. Nicole started explaining that sometimes people don't have hair. Kira thought for a moment and then said, "Oh! Like Aunt Janice!" and went happily off to play with Belle the Bald.

Such a role model I am!

I went in to have Penelope flushed today. That sounds bad, but all that happens is the nurse sticks her with the access tube, puts in saline solution, makes sure she both lets things go in and things come out, and then takes out the access tube. It seems strange that it has been six weeks already since last time Penelope was used. I must still be in penelope mode, however, because I didn't jump or yelp when I was poked. Sophistication wears strange clothing sometimes -- ha ha ha, chemotherapy sophistication.

My throat has started feeling strange, as though there is a giant lump around which I have to swallow and breathe. It doesn't hurt, precisely, but drinking is hard, and I am aware of it all the time. It began a couple of days ago, so I will have to remember to tell Dr. Clark next week, just in case it is some bizarre side effect no one told me about. He did emphasize the fact that I should be paying attention to my body. I'm listening, body!

On the way home, I passed through an intersection and noticed a car waiting to turn left. As I passed, I realized that the female driver had tears streaming down her face as she sat there. It gave me a jolt, and I wondered what could have happened. Even with everything I've been through, it is hard to remember that behind the public faces people show are inner realms of happiness or sorrow or distress or joy that often aren't apparent to those watching. How good it is that God looks on our hearts.

Crystal is here to visit, and she came to pick me up this morning so we could talk all the way to the doctor's, in the waiting room, and again in the exam room while we waited for Dr. Clark to come in. She brought me a hat -- her favorite black bowler-type hat, and when I objected, she objected right back. I must still need to learn to be a gracious accepter.

Afterward, we went to Mom's and woke Paul up to come visit with us too. Isn't it amazing that you can have friends that you don't see for years and years but with whom there is no time gap when you do see them again? That's how it feels with Crystal. Maybe that's why heaven is heaven: time enough for everything.

By now, the routine is familiar. Lie down, rubber-band feet, arms holding the post, couch raises and moves backward, big round arms comes overhead, they write on me with Sharpie marker. Then I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and listen to whatever music they've chosen. Today it was Enya and I thought, as I always do, how annoying it is to not be able to understand the words. I mentioned as much, and then a discussion ensued concerning whether Enya was the lead artist's real name, or whether it referred to the whole group.

Such scintillating and intelligent topics we choose! Better than saying nothing, though. I have also noticed that the light switches for the room are linked somehow to the little remote controller that the techs use to move my couch and the machine arms, because when Brooke touches it by mistake and the ceiling lights flash on and off, she always says, "Little light show!" It makes me feel like I'm in my own ________________ (the word escapes me; like a theater, but they show astronomy things on the ceiling and you always fall asleep).

I finally remembered to take the Olivia book to show them, and Dr. Clark and Gary were properly impressed by Olivia's marker tattoos. Brooke apologized for not being such an artist.

And afterward, Michele took me to lunch in Springville! It is sooooo nice to be able to taste things again!

Today when I was on the table and they had lined me up and drawn on me with Sharpie and we had joked about something, they left to go push buttons, and I started coughing. I tried to cough quietly without moving, but that is almost impossible. So Brooke and Marcie had to come back, and Marcie said that the only cough drop she had was nasty-tasting, but she brought it anyway. It wasn't so bad, and I was able to stop coughing.

Lining me up again didn't take very long, and Brooke said that once they had a patient who insisted that her toes began itching as soon as they left the room. I think I will bring a throat drop every day, and put it in my mouth while I'm gowning. Less work that way.

I do not feel like doing very much, but getting out of the house in time to drop Reuben where he is going and get in the radiation doors by 10 has become the Big Goal. If I want to shower and be able to use lotion, I have to do it before 8 a.m. I'm not to use deodorant at all. So far my skin hasn't really changed. Today was session # 7.

Last night Reuben said to me, "I wish your hair was like before, and you didn't wear hats." I have to agree about the hair part, but I like wearing hats. A little fuzz is starting to grow, and James, Nicole, and Paul were here one day and they said I should wear one of those elastic headbands with a giant flower or bow, like little girl-babies do, or stick a bow on my head with Karo syrup. Someone else I know but can't recall precisely whom, at this juncture, calls them "head tourniquets."

Well, from now on I will be having radiation treatments at 10 a.m. That means that I have to leave the house at 9:45 so I have time to park and walk in. I don't have to wait, I just go straight back. The only effects I've noticed so far are 1) I have Sharpie marker on me all the time, and 2) my left arm and side are continually sore. This is because of the position in which I have to hold my arms, which is not comfortable at all, and really pulls on my left shoulder area and side.

I find myself taking a book along to read, even though I haven't actually had time to read at all because they are so streamlined and efficient. I've also discovered that I could actually wear the same shirt every day since I take it off before getting in there, but that I evaluate my socks to see when I last changed them. Who wants to put rubber bands on stinky sock feet?

Brooke is the full-time radiation tech; her helpers so far are Marcie and Katie. On Tuesday, I had radiation and x-rays, which took a whole hour. Then today, I had radiation and x-rays again because something happened to Tuesday's. I'm in a different room this time. The drill goes something like this:

Come in, say hi to the receptionist, walk to the dressing room, knock to make sure someone hasn't forgotten to lock the door while they change, enter and lock door, strip and stow belongings, put on exciting radiation wear, exit dressing room, go to tiny waiting room, get warm blanket out of the blanket oven (I'm sure it's not really called that), sit down, wait for someone to come get me. I usually don't have time to read anything, but since sometimes I do, I tend to bring a book all the time just in case. Joke with Brooke and helper-of-the-day, check computer for my name, lay on hard slab, put arms up, and hold still/hold still/hold still and don't think about your left arm being very uncomfortably stretched over your head.

Brooke and helper raise the couch to about shoulder level, a fact I discovered today when we were done and I sat up to get off and I was quite high up off the floor! I'm sure it makes their work easier when they don't have to lean over to do it. They first line up all my tattoos with the lasers coming from the round machine arm and the two side walls. "That's me," when uttered by helper-of-the-day, means that the tattoo on her side is lined up with the laser. Brooke moves the couch forward and back a couple of times to check, sometimes pulls my arm up a little higher, and when I'm all squared away (ha ha ha), they start reading out numbers. "5 medial" means they shift me a bit to the right. "Depth of 3" means they raise the couch a bit. The middle of the round arm of the machine has little pistons that can move to make shaped fields for the radiation. My first field looks like a pattern piece for the bodice of a dress -- armhole curve on the left, neckline curve on the right, straight sides and bottom.

At this point, Brooke and helper get out the Sharpie markers and I discover that they draw on me every day! Some of the marks make the tattoos more noticeable, and then they trace the lines the round arm shines on me, with little dashes. When everything is to their liking, Brooke and helper-of-the-day leave, close the radiation barrier doors, and I hear the buzzing sound that means invisible rays are bombarding me. I can't feel them, though. John Denver is singing about country roads taking him home.

30 second later, Brooke and Marcie are back. They check to make sure I'm still lined up, and then they shift me to a different position. The round machine arm rotates about 30 degrees to my right, and Brooke shifts the couch to the right also, and angles my feet left, so they are pointing more at 11 o'clock instead of 12 noon. My right elbow almost touches the round machine arm. The pistons have whirred back and forth into a long rectangle, and Brooke attaches a horseshoe-shaped metal thing onto the machine arm. Marcie slides a clear plastic plate onto the horseshoe, and it has a black foam rectangle protruding from slots about 4 inches. Brooke wiggles it back and forth until the angle satisfies her. She checks it by touching my left side with her fingers. I peeked today, and she's really checking to see where the laser touches my skin so she knows exactly where the rays will hit. Marcie used a ruler to do the same thing yesterday. They leave again, and the buzzing starts.

When they come back this time, Marcie uses her Sharpie to draw a line along the bottom of the black foam rectangle in the clear plastic plate. She then removes it, and the machine arm rotates to the left until it is so far down that I can't see it in my peripheral vision. I hear some clicking and snapping and guess that Brooke has put the plate back in the horseshoe holder. They check a couple more things and then leave again to start the machine buzzing rays at my left side.

Since I am having x-rays also, the machine arm rotates back to the top, but this time they insert a plastic plate with metal pegs along an x and y axis into the horseshoe holder. We go through the whole routine again. My arm is killing me.

When Brooke says I can put my arms down, I have to use my right arm to help lower the left one. Brooke says I'll see the doctor on Friday this time, but normally I'll see him on Wednesdays. She also says I'll have x-rays every Tuesday. I think I'll let them help me remember all of this.

When I'm re-dressed and on my way out, I see that someone has brought doughnuts and juice. I take some apple juice. So much for the second day of radiation.

The Sharpie marker didn't wash off all the way, and I don't think scrubbing is a good plan. When I finished my shower, I could see that the tattoos are smaller than my moles are, but in a much more regular pattern.

At least I didn't get eaten by the Dragon.

When I go to Radiation Therapy, I walk in (no waiting!) and go to Patient's Dressing Room #1 (just because I am #1) and put my things in Locker #1 (same reason). I get to strip from the waist up and wear a lovely blue hospital gown that won't shut and slip the key-bracelet thingy on my wrist and go to the small waiting room just past the sign "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here".

Just kidding. The sign really says something about nobody back here but us patients and techies.

Today, Gary takes me into the "simulation" room. This means they are taking lots of x-rays of me to decide where to aim the radiation rays so they miss vital things like hearts and lungs. He has me sit on the "couch", which is actually not a couch, but the hardest slab of metal I've ever touched. That's when I notice the Dragon. It's in the corner to my left, and I have to look again before I realize that the knobs and buttons and sliders and cords just make it look like a dragon. The main cylinder is the head and snout, with two handles for ears and another handle just for fun, I guess. Under the main cylinder is a sliding box that looks like the dragon's beard, and on the end of the cylinder are some buttons in the perfect places to be nostrils and teeth. The stand it's on become its feet and body, and the three intertwining electrical cords snaking out of the main cylinder are a very convincing tail.

Gary talks all the time, telling me what he's going to do and then doing it. He has me lie on the couch (ha!) and rubber-bands my feet together (so I won't wiggle them). Under my head is a plastic form that reminds me of those weird Egyptian neck-rest things at museums, except mine has two posts sticking up and a wing on each side. When Gary has me raise my arms up and hold onto the posts, I discover that the wings are to rest my arms on. This becomes very important later on, when I've had my arms in the same position for an hour.

The angle isn't right with one hand on each post, so we try having both hands hold the right post, and that seems to work. The only problem is that after about three minutes my left arm begins to object. It continues to object, gradually getting louder and louder. The machine they use (not the Dragon) has about four arms, one of which is a two-foot-wide circle with a glass panel in the middle. As I later find out, this can emit light, including a ruler made of light, onto my chest as well as x-rays, laser beams, and radiation rays. It can rotate around me from front to back as I lay there. One of the other arms is square, and apparently has to be exactly opposite the round arm when taking x-rays. The couch also raises up and can swivel. There are laser beams shining from the ceiling above me, and from each side wall.

I have to take my left arm out of the gown so Gary can write on my chest and side with Sharpie marker! I am forcibly reminded of Olivia the Tattooed Lady*. Gary has never heard of this story, nor has Dr. Clark. I decide I should enlighten them. Gary also tapes BBs on my chest at certain intervals, apparently so he can have reference points to his Sharpie lines and dots on the x-rays he is taking. Gary makes circles and letters and numbers and dotted lines and solid lines and takes about 12 x-rays. If someone gave me a quarter for every time he says, "Remember to keep still," or "You're doing great! Keep lying still, now" I'd have probably $10. Finally Gary says Dr. Clark likes the treatment plan they've been making, and he gets ink and a little pin and proceeds to drip ink on my chest in six dots, and puts one dot on each side. Then he pricks my skin in the middle of each dot, and voila! I have eight dot tattoos.

I tie up my gown, because Gary says we have to go have a CT scan, which means we walk through the hospital corridors to the CT room. The couch there has nice cushions on it, but Gary pulls out a wooden plank from behind the machine and fastens it onto the cushions. He has brought along the neck-rest thing, so now I lie down on the wooden plank and rearrange myself like I was in the other room, and Gary checks all my Sharpie and Tattoo lines with the laser beams in this room, and then we start the CT scan. The CT scanner is like a big O, into the middle of which my plank and I go. We go in and out several times while Gary checks incomprehensible things, and then finally Gary explains that this is a slow scan and so I have to just lie still and be patient while the O whirs and flashes around me, and the couch/plank slowly eases into the O and back out again. I am freezing.

By this time my arms are pretty numb, and I am reminded of all those karate classes in high school when we took up the Iron Horse (am I remembering the name right?) stance and just stood there until our legs about fell off. I play mind tricks on myself and listen to the whirring and don't bother to try to follow the lights as they whiz around the O. Finally the machine quiets down and I can rest my arms.

We walk back to the radiation therapy rooms and Gary says I'm done, so I go back to the dressing room and look at my Sharpie designs and tattoos in the mirror. Olivia's are infinitely more intriguing. I am a dot-to-dot.

*Olivia Saves the Circus by Ian Falconer. Atheneum Books, 2001.

In honor of Groundhog Day, I actually ordered the Groundhog Gift for the lucky recipients and we are going to have ground hog for dinner [7 letters, has 2 s's, and ends in 'age'].

The Pros of Chemo:

1. Washing your hair takes two seconds.
2. Drying your hair takes two seconds.
3. Brushing and arranging your hair takes no time at all.
4. You don't have to shave your legs.
5. You get to drive motorized shopping carts or wheelchairs in stores.
6. You can lie around reading instead of doing dishes, and no one gets mad.
7. You can read books while eating.
8. Reuben gives you lots of kisses.
9. People are always glad to see you, or else they pretend really well.
10. You have a built-in excuse not to go out in the cold.
11. Your big brother gives you hugs.
12. You get to go to lunch with your husband more.
13. You can ignore the housework.
14. When you forget that you were supposed to do something, you can blame it on chemo-brain.
15. Wearing hats in the winter doesn't give you hat-hair.
16. Your earrings show up better.
17. You can wear your pajamas all day.
18. You can buy flowers to cheer yourself up and not feel guilty about it.
19. You can send your children to fetch things from upstairs for you, and they'll do it.
20. Nice people cook dinner for you when you can't.

I've been caught by the I-don'-wannas. James and Kira came over to play on Wednesday, which was great, because I could procrastinate while feeling that I was still being useful. I didn't want to go do errands, but I did anyway. And then I rewarded myself by reading! Thursday I didn't want to do anything, but Steve said I could come to lunch at his school, so I drove out and got some lunch at Teriyaki Stix and took it in to him. I saw his principal and some of the teachers who became my friends when I substituted last year. The principal, when she heard that I had an appointment on Friday with the radiation oncologist, marched in and told Stephen that he was to get a substitute and go with me to my appointment. And so today James and Kira came again, and Steve and I went to see Dr. Clark.

Dr. Clark and his nurse said that radiation is easier than chemo, but there are still side effects. I will probably still be tired. I will feel like I have a bad sunburn. And, apparently, I will probably become depressed and not be able to sleep at night. They said I should plan for a nap every day, and I should plan to get some exercise every day -- even just a 20-minute walk -- because it releases endorphins to make me feel better. Next Wednesday I have to go in and spend 90 minutes on "a very hard table" (quote from the nurse) so they can do the "body imaging" (taking scans so they can figure out where to aim the radiation to miss my heart and lungs) and put my tattoos on. The nurse showed me an example of a tattoo, and it is fairly tiny, but Paula said her mother-in-law's tattoos are much larger. Paul and Jason say I should lobby for some sort of design. If I have to have a tattoo, I might as well have a "real" tattoo, right? (They haven't convinced me yet.)

I had to take everyone to the dentist. I think it's easier to take everyone and spend an hour and a half there and be done. We have several episodes with braces coming up. I won't be able to be very sympathetic, having never had braces myself, although I desperately wanted them at one point and would put rubberbands on my teeth just to see what it might be like.

And Thursday morning while I was slugging away, I Skyped with Su. She said Kent has anemia and the doctor gave him a list of iron-rich foods to eat:

cockles
black pudding
liver
fish paste
faggotts
kidneys
venison
heart
boiled mussels
liver pate
goose
pheasant
haggis (or the more hilarious but less honest version)
sardinesanchovies
pilchards
beef lean
curry powder
twiglets

Obviously there is a British bend to the list. Su said there was also a list of vegetables, and she had to ask for translations on many of them so she'd know what to ask for at the market. I think I'd much rather have Penelope and a bit of thin plastic tubing with iron dripping through it!

I have been Your Right Royal Grumpiness today. Waspish things have been bursting from my mouth all day, even when I tried to stop them, and I fervently hope this dissipates during the night or I will have to duct tape my mouth shut tomorrow, after I procure a supply. How pleasant that would be!

I have also discovered that I have been a neglectful parent. My children had never heard Bohemian Rhapsody, nor did they realize that Queen was also responsible for Another One Bites the Dust and We are the Champions and We Will Rock You. I know I've introduced them to Simon and Garfunkel, but their pop music education is sadly lacking, I fear. As is their poetry education, and their exposure to great comic artists such as Laurel and Hardy and the Marx Brothers. My only consolation is that they are all book fiends. At least I did something right.

This all came about because I was thinking about what things I enjoy, and it occurred to me that my children had no idea I enjoyed these things because I had never shared them. Even though I'm not planning on kicking any buckets in the near future, I wondered if they would know what kinds of things I liked. What would they say?

lemon-flavored anything
grapefruit
potato chips
french fries
flowers in glass vases
emily dickinson
reading
classical music
word puzzles
Jotto
Pounce
going barefoot
baggy sweaters
dangly earrings
Scrabble

When I first thought of this, I came home and gave Nathaniel permission to set up a table in his bedroom for the express purpose of having a jigsaw puzzle on it to work on -- because I love puzzles. Practicality set in quickly, as it was ruined by a certain small brother. So a Reuben-proof doorknob cover is on the list for the store, when I get up enough jaksaa* to get there. I'm afraid jaksaa is sadly lacking in me at present. With all the other things going on that are going on, how shall I begin to share these things I love with my family, so they can know for future reference? What other favorite things of mine have I pushed out of the way to make way for the urgent reality of being a mother and having children preoccupy every part of me? Is this a mid-life crisis?

*jaksaa is one of those great Finnish verbs. It means "to have the intestinal fortitude to do something".

Climbing up the sides of the pit is going slowly. I have discovered that one reason eating does not appeal is that my tongue is sore. It feels big in my mouth, and everything kind of hurts as I chew. Things are tasting normal right now, though. Yay!

Penelope has not been happy, though, and I can't figure out how she can make my right arm hurt. Maybe it's because I tend to hold that shoulder higher without noticing, to try to ease her discomfort. I keep making myself relax whenever I notice, but my neck muscles are tense. Maybe she heard Dr. Wallentine talking about getting rid of her and she's trying to let me know she loves me.

I went to the posh retirement home to play my flute today as part of the Relief Society lesson our ward provides every January. I have played there quite a bit for their Sacrament meetings because Sister Isaacson calls and asks me so enthusiastically. Besides, I love playing and where else do I get such an appreciative audience? Afterward I went up to visit Florence, my organ/piano playing buddy whose husband performed my marriage all those years ago (has it really been that long? Do I really have such an old first child?). She had fallen down yesterday and was lying on her couch. One of her knees would seize up every now and then -- very painfully. I sat on the floor close to her and we talked about all sorts of things. She told me about when Dr. Kohler operated on Dorothy because her side was very painful, and how he was crying when he called Todd to say that she was full of cancer and he gave her only 45 days to live, which turned out to be almost exact. I told her how my cancer, even though it was so tiny, would have had to be growing for four years at least, to become the size it was. We both thought but didn't say how long that probably meant Dorothy had had cancer without knowing. I thought how it could actually still be inside me. I said as much to Steve the other day, and he shrugged and said don't we all live without really knowing what's going on inside?

Florence told me how her two boys had had polio as children and they had traveled every day up to the clinic in Salt Lake City and how sad she had been to see all those children in wheelchairs. Supposedly it's not a threat now, but with people deciding not to immunize, the threat is always there, in my mind. Do diseases hibernate somewhere and wait for someone infectible to come along? Can polio be a creation, a thing, like an amoeba or a water bear, that is so tiny we can't see it, but is still a living thing that exists on earth without people to infect?

We talked about the organists in the ward and my other musical callings, and she told me I should tell the Bishop he needed to release me from something. I laughed and told her about my unmusical calling, but said I would tell him she was telling him instead. I thought about how much fun I was having and how many times I've thought about her lately and how I haven't dared go visit, just as I haven't gone much of anywhere. I was told to avoid crowds and places where lots of germs would be.

I hugged her head gently and kissed her before I left. I love her. I miss her. I need to make time to go see her more often.

The best part about being in heaven, in my opinion, would be visiting and spending time with and sharing stories with all the people we love, including those we can't fit in down here. There are, after all, only 24 hours to every one of our days, and I for one have so many things on my List that I'm going to have to live forever to get to them all.

Today is the first day since chemo that I have actually gotten dressed. Friday and Saturday I spent almost exclusively in bed. I took anti-nausea medication and I drank lots of water and read about three books and slept a lot. Friday really late James brought Nicole and another Jason over and we played a fun game called Ten Days in Africa or something, and then we taught them Pounce, which was almost too much for my medicine-brain, but I managed to have one brilliant round. Then I went back to bed.

Saturday Steve took the kids cross-country skiing, and they all had a great time. Reuben stayed here with James and Jason and I, and I had a great time in bed, not being cross-country skiing. By the time they got back and we had pizza (Thanks, Laurie!), I was able to lie on the couch and watch movies with them and then go back to bed.

Today at church I made the mistake of sitting by Joseph and Reuben. Ordinarily their wiggling wouldn't have bothered me, but at this stage of chemo, every move they made jarred nerves and it just hurt to sit there by them. I finally passed Reuben over to Steve and then asked Joe and Nathaniel not to touch me, and kind of slunk down in my seat and sat really still. And I was very grateful to sit all alone on the piano bench during primary, and to have the extra cushiony bench at the back when I wasn't playing.

It seems odd to me that my sense of being touched could be this extreme. We live on the premise that touching will feel good. Chemo turns all that upside down, and I wonder whether I will have a problem getting back into "normal" perspective, or whether some part of me will be more cautious about touching from now on.

Another first! I threw up!

I couldn't eat much dinner because just looking at it made me queasy, but I felt all right other than that, so when Haruka asked if Bethany and I would go to the mall and help her look for a short jacket to go over her preference dress, I said yes. We found one pretty quickly. I was starving by this time, so I took an anti-nausea pill and ate a bit of cookie (I know, but it was all I could face) and went to bed.

Next thing I knew, I was doing you-know-what.

Hopefully the pill stayed down, because I'm not eating anything else until tomorrow!

I have made it to the light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least to the bit of the tunnel where I can see that there's a light at the end. Today was my last chemo treatment. Hooray!

I asked Dr. W the questions I've been waiting to ask, such as how do we know the cancer is all gone? How long does Penelope get to stay? What happens next? What preventative things can I do? The answers were not what I would have wished to hear. We don't know that the cancer is gone, and there really isn't a reliable way to tell. I'll need to keep Penelope at least until radiation is over, and maybe longer. I'll have to have her "flushed" once every six weeks with saline solution. I start the radiation simulations (don't ask, because I don't know) on the 30th. There are many theories about preventative measures, many of which have not been scientifically studied. Healthy diet and exercise and mammograms every six months and blood tests every three months to see whether any indications exist of recurrence.

I slept through the entire thing. You'd think I could have stayed awake and celebrated. Oh, well. They gave me a bottle of Martinelli's as a graduation present. I wonder if I can put this graduation date on a resume, because it's probably just as important to me, if not more so, than the other three grad dates already there.

Happy 2009!

Since I was feeling frisky, we had a New Year's Eve party -- low-key, just fun food and games and friends. We played Apples to Apples and Pounce and other things I forget, and ate exotic cheeses (instead of a cheese ball, because the only flavor left was pumpkin chocolate chip, and I refuse to have that. Blech!) and crackers and chips and guacamole. I was naughty and ate too many chips with dip, because I could actually taste them! Suzy and Tyson came over, and Haruka, and Nanika, and when it was midnight we all had Martinelli's sparkling stuff and made new year's wishes and I fell splat and spilled and we laughed at that too.

And then today, of course, was the traditional New Year's Day movie madness day at Jordan's, with a looooooong sandwich. We decided to choose one movie, and then the next movie would have to have one actor in common with the previous movie. Lots of cousins showed up, and so we also played games and talked and laughed. Grandmother Jordan had a grand time playing Speed Scrabble. That was my favorite part!