Tough week

Okay, so a LOT has happened in the last week.

Last week I had a good day in the hammock.

Two days after that, I had a couple of bad days that had my oncology concerned enough that they had me come in for labs and blood work. Turns out my results were bad enough that I needed a transfusion of one unit of blood last week. Then, a few days later, I woke up with the taste of blood in my throat. Evidently, a side effect of one of my meds can be bloody nose. But the thing was, it wasn't just a bloody nose.

It was a gusher.

When I say gusher, I do in fact mean that when The Husband saw it, we both knew immediately it was an emergency. We called the overnight on-call oncologist, who said in no uncertain terms that it was time to go to the ER right now.

The nearest hospital is almost thirty minutes away, and my nose gushed like a fountain the entire ride there. Luckily, there was nobody else there, so they saw me right away. Also, do you know how much more frightening the ER is when The Husband is not allowed in? Eventually, it stopped on its own, so I was able to go home (at 4 am). They did more blood work before letting me go, and said I would probably need another transfusion within a day or so. So we left messages for my oncology team to get my chart and notes sent over right away. First thing the next morning, my team got me in for more blood tests, and then scheduled my transfusion for the next morning. It would be a 6+hour process. Again, The Husband was not allowed in with me.

I don't know if any of you have ever needed a transfusion, but it is an exhausting process. I don't know why, but I can tell you that I basically slept for three days. Every time I closed my eyes for 5 minutes, I slept for 6 hours. Then I'd wake up hungry, then I'd close my eyes, and another 6 hours gone to dreamworld.

And suddenly, this morning, I woke up.

Alert.

Motivated.

Feeling almost strong. I guess it takes a few days to assimilate other people's blood? I don't know, but after having what might have been the worst week I've had in a long time, I suddenly feel kind of okay.

Knock on wood.

Spoon Theory and being an Introvert

The other day, I forgot for just a little while, to keep track of my spoons. If you are not familiar with Spoon Theory, I strongly recommend you click through the link here. It's not very long, and it may explain quite a lot if you know or are close with someone dealing with chronic illness. Go ahead. Click the link and do some reading.

Okay, ready? Let's talk about spoons.

Before all of this, I was aware of spoon theory, but I was oh so lucky. I didn't actually have to keep that close a count on my spoons.

It's really quite incredible how brain surgery, radiation, chemo, and all the rest steal your spoons before you even know what happened. This damn spoon thief -- just wow.

Some mornings, I wake up, slowly, sluggishly, and I can just tell that putting my feet on the floor is going to cost me. And some mornings, I wake up feeling full of inspiration and energy, feeling like maybe the spoon thief forgot to get me while I was asleep, and I start with three extra spoons for no particular reason. When I wake up with those glorious extra spoons, I have to take advantage when I can, because who even knows when that will happen again.

So, the thing is, cancer fatigue is a real pain, because side effects of cancer, brain surgery, chemo, radiation, and all those pills also make it hard to predict just how quickly those spoons will slip through my fingers.

The simple act of writing my blog is absolutely exhausting and costs me more spoons than I care to admit. Writing a blog post might take me 30 minutes or it might take me three hours, and I have no way of knowing before I get started. By the time I'm finished and ready to post, I need to eat a snack, grab something to drink, and take a nap. Spoon count doesn't matter at that point: it takes brain power that is not in full supply to get these words out of my head. I love to write. I love to write so much, but at this point, writing feels like an athletic activity, most of the time. I am just always so tired.

While we are here, let's talk about being an introvert. There are conflicting theories out there about whether introversion or extroversion are really a real thing, but let me explain. Introversion does not mean being shy. It does not mean being quiet. Simply, introversion means that it costs energy (spoons) to be around certain people in social situations (parties I guess, what else did we do before quarantine?). For extroverts, they feel recharged being around people, so they gain spoons by being social around most people. For me, most social situations cost me spoons. That doesn't mean that I don't like and/or want to spend time with my friends, but I have to watch that spoon count.

So the other day, I talked with a couple of good friends on Zoom. After that I got to Skype with my oldest friend. By the time I finished talking with these friends about whom I care very deeply I was so tired and done that I proceeded to take a four hour nap. I only woke up because I was hungry, The Husband very kindly cooked a delicious dinner for me, but I still basically wasn't worth a damn the rest of the day. That was the reminder I didn't know I know I needed that it's not just about the spoons, but also keeping track of over-planning stuff for myself. I always feel so guilty for not keeping up with people, or having to cancel or bow out of my online social life, but I am just always so tired. So yeah, if you call or text me at any time of day or night, there is a solid 95% chance I'm just asleep. Gotta hoard those spoons.

One Year cancerversary

Well, one year ago today, I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I'm still here, still mostly me, minus a few bones and plus a few extra scars. When it comes down to it, I don't want to celebrate this as some special milestone; I just want to say that inertia keeps me going, and as long as I can keep on going, I will keep on going.

As a young kid, I remember taking a special test, and in the 3rd grade I was moved to the Gifted class. I was proud of being a smart kid. I loved to read (still do) but for me, for most of my life, my proudest asset was my intelligence, my logic, my rationality. Life played a dirty trick on me by letting this happen, and it just wasn't fair. I felt betrayed, lost.

I was afraid.

But it wasn't just the cancer, I was afraid of losing myself. I begged my Rockstar Neurosurgeon not to make me stupid. I was so scared to wake up from actual literal brain surgery having forgotten how to read, how to spell, how to write.

Would I even know if that part of me was erased? Who would I be without that part of me? My Rockstar Neurosurgeon is a true Rockstar, and I came out of that first (of multiple) brain surgeries with very little in the way of deficits. My reading speed slowed down, but otherwise I was okay.

Since then I've had radiation beamed directly into my head, three different kinds of chemo, three brain surgeries, countless MRIs, finding more tumors, and the never-ending isolation of Covid quarantine. But after a year of all of this, I am doing okay. As okay as I can be with cancer.

Yeah, I have cancer, but I'm not helpless, and I'm not dying yet. I spent a lot of time thinking about my inevitable mortality, staring at that bus. It took me a long time, but I am finally able to stop thinking about it, at least for days or even weeks at a time. It's not about dying of cancer any more. For now, I choose to mark this milestone by living with cancer. No cakes or parties because I don't want your germs, but I won't say no to a few more penpals, and if you would like to donate I still have that Gofundme, Amazon wish list, Cashapp, stuff like that. Do you know how much it costs to keep up with prescription copays?It's a LOT

My family and friends who have been here for me, thank you for all of your love and support. It means more to us than you could possibly know.

Ok, ready to hear the original poem of the day?

Things they don’t tell you about cancer:

It is lonely

It is frightening

Everything hurts

The chemo isn’t even the worst part

Well, sometimes, it is

There is so much to keep track of

Like a full-time job

Flu season is scary

Covid quarantine is pants-shittingly terrifying

You can’t hug every friend or family member you see

No matter how much a good strong embrace would help

It is too dangerous

Besides

Your skin will hurt

Your stomach will hurt

Even hugging your dog will hurt

there is so much fear

Is this a normal cancer symptom?

When should I worry?

When should I just take a valium and go to sleep?

How to turn off the loop in my head?

Cancer cancer cancer

Cancer cancer cancer

Eat dream and breathe cancer

It erases who you were

A professional

A friend

A sister

A daughter

Instead you become the diagnosis

Cancer cancer cancer

A reader

A writer

A mentor

Cancer cancer cancer

Consuming you

Destroying you

Shredding you to bits

Tearing away all of your softest spots

Leaving you with only the hardest pieces

Cancer cancer cancer

It leaves you with nothing but stone

They don’t tell you that you will have to be stronger than you have ever been

That the scars will harden you

Preparing you for the fight of your literal life

It will be quiet

Whispers and murmured euphemisms

So many prayers and thoughts

Overflowing good vibes and warm fuzzies

They won’t tell you any of these things.

-         11 June 2020

That's my stuff for today. I hope you have a good day. Love you guys!

Physical therapy

Some of you may be wondering why I'm suddenly complaining about physical therapy, so I want to tell you a story.

Just about a month ago, while hanging out with my baby sunflowers in the garden, I leaned over the makeshift fence The Husband made to protect those baby sunflowers. I was so proud of those little babies, they were so cute. All of a sudden, my balance went funny, and even though I had a hand on the fence, I sloooooow motion tumbled, knocking over the fence and somehow pirouetting so I landed on my rear instead of my head. I knew I was falling, I said, "Oh noooo I'm falling," and The Husband grabbed for me but gravity had already taken over at that point.

I ended up on my rear sitting on some poor baby sunflowers, embarrassed and feeling stupid, with what we thought was nothing more than a bruised ego.

Well, that's what we thought. Within a few hours, The Husband noticed that my coordination was off. I was bumping into things. Losing my balance. I didn't think it was that bad, but he was worried about it.

Incidentally, when you have brain cancer and go to the oncologist's office, they will ALWAYS ask you, "Have you had any recent falls?"

So, when The Husband saw that I was physically affected almost immediately after what I thought was a tiny little embarrassing nothing tumble, we decided to call the doc rather than waiting weeks for my next follow up. They had me in an MRI by that Monday to see what was going on in there. They found a couple of things: I had some brain swelling (which appears to have been helped by the additional prescription medicine they added to my ever-growing stack of pills I take every day) and there was a tumor that was not responding as they would have preferred to the chemo regimen I was on at the time.

Time to change to IV chemo, put in a port, and try something new again. So, I'm only a couple weeks into the new chemo regimen -  too early to tell what's happening in there.

But, the lasting result of the fall jiggling and rattling my tumor has left me with occasional weakness, loss of balance, and other unpleasantness.

I've had to start using a cane for safety, because I truly never know what days will be good and unremarkable, and other days I can barely support my own self on my left leg. When I noticed that the weakness and loss of balance (normal for the location of the tumor) were starting to affect me more and more, I asked for a physical therapy referral, which I just recently started. Now, I was the one that asked for it, because I knew that I needed it, but fun fact: physical therapy is not actually fun. My physical therapist is very kind and very patient with me so far, but physical therapy is much harder than I thought it would be. I have a long road ahead of me to recover the balance and strength that I lost in that one stupid little fall.

So there you have it: I use a cane now. My sunflowers survived my squishing them and are only a little bit shorter than their friends, and I'm doing physical therapy because if I don't, I'll only continue to feel the physical deficit caused by the fall.

Have we mentioned that cancer sucks?

just tired

I am just so tired. I don't want to acknowledge the bags under my eyes. I don't want to tell you how much sleep I'm getting, and how that's not enough. The new chemo is kicking my butt in ways I don't even want to discuss. 

I smile because I feel like I have to. Put on the strong face, and never let them see you cry. 

I'm just so tired 

ImPORTant news

So, cancer update.

I still have cancer. Go figure.

Let's go in order:

• first I had a headache
• then it was a mass
• then I had surgery #1
• Diagnosis Day was the absolute worst
• Then I started phase 1 of standard treatment, but there was a problem

I had an infection, and needed surgery #2 to clean it out.

Back to the list:

• I started round 1 of chemo and radiation
• I finished round 1 of chemo and radiation
• I had a brain scan
• I started round 2 of chemo, phase 2 of standard treatment
• I had another brain scan

Chemo wasn't working, I needed surgery #3. Back to the list again:

• I had another brain scan
• My awesome oncologist decided I need to start phase 3 of standard treatment, which involves both chemo and a non-chemo medicine
• The non-chemo medicine is an infusion, which means that I need a port, which means that tomorrow is surgery #4. 

That's it. I think? That's a lot. Anyway, don't be mad you just found out today, because I just found out today that I'm having that surgery tomorrow. I guess that gives me less time to freak out. Not too happy that The Husband will have to wait in the parking lot, but it's an outpatient procedure, so he'll bring me home tomorrow afternoon, and hopefully I'll be doped to the gills.

Cancer sucks.

No Visitors Allowed

Ok, good news first: No, I do not have coronavirus, and I am not ill (besides the cancer, but y'know...). I am practicing a lot of social distancing and self-quarantine.

There are a variety of infographics, diagrams, and charts out there that explain in detail what social distancing means, so I won't go into that in a whole lot of detail.

Instead, I want to address the many people who have discussed or requested a visit with me.

The thing is, because I have cancer, I am immunocompromised. I am not as immunocompromised as I was during daily chemo/radiation, but my body is still spending time fighting the cancer, which means that my immune system is not fully equipped to fight off additional illness.

Last week, I had a follow up with the Rockstar Neurosurgeon to get the stitches out. He likes the way the incision is healing, but it is not completely healed yet.

We had a discussion about corona while The Husband and I were in the Rockstar Neurosurgeon's office. He broke it down for us. Individually, the chances of any one person catching corona are low-ish, but the nature of this illness is that eventually, it is a matter of when, not if, some individual will be exposed.

He recommends caution, and I'm all for that, which is part of why I rarely leave the house, and never leave without a mask and hand sanitizer available. We've been avoiding crowds and basically keeping distance from people. No hugs, no handshakes, no one closer than 6-10 feet during conversation.

I miss having the chance to socialize with friends, but the scary reality is that the Rockstar Neurosurgeon very clearly advised me that if I get this virus, I will end up on a ventilator, just by nature of being immunocompromised. In the past nine months, I've been hospitalized four times. I don't know if you know this, but being stuck in the hospital suuuuuuuuucks. The absolute last thing I want is to be back in a hospital any time soon. A Twitter friend posted this the other day, and I think it's important to share it as widely as possible:

Not sure who needs to hear this, but I haven’t survived almost a year with #Glioblastoma only to die from #COVID19. Stay home, folks. Protect the vulnerable. #btsm

— Aaron (@amhoov) March 11, 2020

Lots of people tell me how strong I am, which is very sweet and very kind, but I have a literal hole in my skull. I am part of "the vulnerable".

I have a close friend who lives in the Midwest-ish(?) who was going to try to come visit me. As we were keeping a close eye on this situation, we quickly realized that although we haven't seen each other in maybe 5 or 6 years, out of an abundance of caution, infection was not a risk we were willing to take, for either of us but especially for me. Her trip was canceled, she is still at home, and we are sad that we didn't get to see each other; however, so far I have managed to maintain my health, such as it is.

Making these difficult decisions is the opposite of fun, but we have to be realistic. We have to understand the risks. Don't panic, you probably have enough toilet paper, and you don't need hand sanitizer in your own house if you actually wash your hands with hot water and soap for at least 20-30 seconds. It doesn't even have to be anti-bacterial soap, considering it's a virus.

Anyway. For the time being, I have a stock answer for those who want to come visit.

If you absolutely must be in contact with me, write me a letter. I really do prefer pen pals more than text, email, etc. Send me a card. Write a quick note. Do you know how much it lifts my spirits to get mail that isn't hospital bills??

PO Box 203
La France, SC 29656

In the meantime, be safe, wash your hands, and cover your cough. You may be generally healthy and strong, but remember, not all of us are so lucky. Protect the vulnerable, the elderly, those of us at higher-risk. It's the right thing to do.

Surprise! I'm Home!

So, remember that crazy goat rodeo?

Well. The Rockstar Neurosurgeon is still a freakin' Rockstar. Seriously, he is amazing at brain-cutting.

So, he did a really good job, and I've been properly drugged up for the last couple of days, and I've had very little in the way of physical or neurological deficits. So, the thing is, hospitals are great and all, but with it being flu season and apparently coronavirus is officially in the US, it is really much safer to recover at home, at this point.

Now, here's the thing, I am home, but I'm not allowed to take visitors for at least a few more days while I'm healing my brains. I'll keep you updated on how recovery is going. If you want to help, I won't say no to donations at GoFundMe, CashApp, Venmo, or my Amazon wish list.

This being my third brain surgery, I just want to remind you of something. It takes a lot of rest to recover from brain surgery. I am exhausted just writing this.

You can text or email, comment here or on my fb, but bear in mind, replies will probably be slooooooow.

Whooo, hooo, I'm home!

Surprise! Surgery!

Well, I hate to surprise you like this, but this goat rodeo got dropped on us with very little notice.

So, as you read this, I am having my THIRD surgery in 8 months. Surprise!

I've had multiple scans, both MRI and CT, in the last couple of months, and what appeared to be a spot may actually be tumor. My Rockstar Neurosurgeon is cutting the thing out. Due to a series of unexpected scheduling obstacles, we did not have much notice about this surgery.

So, as of right now, all I know is that I'll be in recovery for a few days before I'm released from the hospital. I will update as much as I can, but please be patient. It will be a loooong day, and I will post an update as soon as I am able to. In the meantime, please be mindful that The Husband has to go through the stress of waiting for me to get put back together like Humpty Dumpty, so he will not be able to personally update every person who calls or texts.

Also, as it is still flu season, it is unlikely that I will take visitors. This includes in the hospital and once I am home, at least until the surgical wound is healed.

The Husband will be taking care of me, like he always does, because he is awesome.

I know that many of you will ask what you can do to help. Right now, because we haven't met our out of pocket max, this surgery will cost a few grand, I'm guessing. To put it bluntly, if you want to help, you can donate through my GoFundMe, CashApp, or a good old-fashioned check in the mail. I hate to put it like that, but we are still working on paying down the last three hospital stays.

Well, I've never been to a goat rodeo. This will be awesome. Right?

More Scanxiety

Last week, I had a brain scan.

On Friday, I met with the oncologist. There were more questions than answers. On Tuesday, I met with the neurosurgeon. Even more questions.

It may be anything from 2-6 weeks before I get more answers. Please don't take this to mean that we must panic for the next 2-6 weeks.

It means that we wait. Impatiently. Anxiously. But not panicked.

To pass the time, I am writing (more than just the blog!) and staying inside because I do NOT want the flu.

Anyway. Good times.

So how's everybody doing out there in the interwebs? Read anything interesting lately?

Books: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (Fin)

I am finally and unfortunately finished with this story. This is the kind of story that I wish I could start again and read it for the first time again. Immediately upon finishing this story, I realized that I would need to rearrange my top 10 favorite books, because this Book of Lost Things was firmly in the top 5. At the ending of this beautiful book, David returns to the land that is not quite like our own to find that it continues to reveal surprises.

"[A] woman appeared. She had dark hair and green eyes. In her arms she held a baby boy, barely out of the womb, who clutched at her blouse as she walked, for a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven. And in the darkness David closed his eyes, as all that was lost was found again" (Connolly 338-9).

Damn you, John Connolly, for writing a book that brought actual tears to my eyes! It has been quite a long time since a book has made me cry, and every time I re-read these last few sentences, I feel that tingle, as if I were cutting onions.

I don't know if everyone fears death, but I do know that there are only two innate fears that every human is born with: falling, and loud noises (the "acoustic startle reflex"). Do I fear death?

Sometimes.

Sometimes it terrifies the hell out of me. One thing that I struggle with is the unknown (as I am sure is common for many of us). Death being the ultimate unknown is terrifying. But occasionally, every once in a long while, I will find a moment of peace. Was I afraid of being born? What, fundamentally, is the difference?

Unanswerable questions.

Back to The Book of Lost Things: a death like David's seems almost unfair. No pain. No trauma. Just the final literal steps in a journey, only to be greeted by those whom he had loved and lost and found again.

If death is like this, there is nothing to fear. There is nothing but joy and love at the end of the journey. We could spend a lifetime regretting the things we may or may not have done, but regret is meaningless in the end. Regardless of what you do or do not believe in, and regardless of your faith or lack thereof, save the regrets. Instead, spread joy and love where you can.

So.

Instead of regrets, I will try to cherish my memories and my mistakes. Those mistakes have made me who I am today. In the end, I can only hope that sharing joy and love will balance out any mistakes I have made.

Anubis casting judgment in S1 Ep3 of American Gods

Books: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (Fear of Death)

In this story, David gets pulled into a world not quite like ours, and while traveling this world, he meets various people and creatures, some good, some evil.

One of those people is Roland, a soldier. David is traveling to find the king of this land not quite like ours, and Roland is traveling to find Raphael, his friend and "the blood in [Roland's] veins, the sweat on [his] brow." Without him, Roland says that he is less than he once was, and he fears Raphael may be dead (Connolly 207). David asks Roland if he is afraid of dying in his quest to find Raphael (Connolly 207). Roland responds:

"'I am afraid of the pain of dying . . . I have been wounded before, once so badly that it was feared I would not survive. I can recall the agony of it, and I don't wish to endure it again. But I feared more the death of others. I did not want to lose them, and I worried about them while they were alive. Sometimes, I think that I concerned myself so much with the possibility of their loss that I never truly took pleasure in the fact of their existence'" (Connolly 207).

I have had to think about the so-called bus that could hit me tomorrow, but through this, I have been far more worried about the bus that could hit The Husband next week, that could hit my sisters next month, that could take away those whom I love and cherish. This terrible diagnosis has forced me to contemplate death with far more depth and detail than I would prefer.

The interesting part of this is that the more I think about death, the less afraid I am, for myself. Death is a universal truth. While, hopefully, it is obvious that I am in no rush to meet him, and I would be so pleased if he could pass me by, that is childish fantasy. I don't want to say that I am not afraid, but less afraid as a result of this choice to contemplate him.

Even now, I am far more terrified of losing those whom I love. I am a master worrier, and yes, I can and will worry myself to pieces if I haven't heard from Baby Sister in several days, or if The Husband takes an unusually long time to get home. So I can fully understand Roland's take on death. We are all dying (hopefully slowly). This story speaks to what I think may be a common experience for many of us. The fear of losing someone else hurts far more than the fear of losing myself. At this point, I've come as close as I can to accepting my diagnosis. I don't like it, but it is what it is.

Today is the 6-month cancerversary of my diagnosis. This diagnosis changed my life. I felt so much loss. Like I could no longer keep a grasp on the life most extraordinary I used to have with The Husband. The thing is, after six months, I've figured some stuff out. Yes, we still worry. Those bills won't pay for themselves. The GoFundMe has stalled out and we aren't sure how to get it rolling again. 

I don't remember the last time I cried for myself. I don't know if I need to worry about that. It seems like I am reminded of my condition in different ways. The tremor in my hand. The trouble sleeping. The weird cold flashes (anti-menopause?). The unpredictable appetite. The handful of pills I have to take every day. The constant and never-ending fatigue. The constant and never-ending co-pays.


I worry constantly. But The Husband is there to hold my hand and comfort me. I am lucky to have the opportunity to take pleasure in the fact of his existence, for I know that I could not have made it this far without him.

Van Gogh-ing to the Museum!

The Husband is awesome. My friend K is awesome. My friend Z is awesome.

K mentioned on Facebook that there was going to be a Van Gogh exhibit nearby, about two hours away. I mentioned it to The Husband, who immediately said, "Book a hotel. We're going."

He knows how I feel about Van Gogh.

My friend Z joined us, which as always, I enjoyed hanging out with one of my oldest and closest friends.

This exhibit had 12 of Van Gogh's works, along with many other works by other artists to demonstrate those who influenced Van Gogh, or were influenced by him.

I love Van Gogh. This will sound ridiculous and I don't care, I always liked Van Gogh, but it wasn't until the Van Gogh episode of Doctor Who that I discovered that I loved Van Gogh.

By no means am I some kind of art critic or art historian. I know what I like. Sometimes, I even know why I like it. I also know what I don't like, and sometimes I can verbalize why I don't like it. As The Husband and Z and I discussed at length, not all art is art just because someone called it art, and some works, while skillfully created, should not be considered art.

How do you decide what is art?

For me, not everything that Van Gogh painted, drew, and sketched was art, but so much of it is. For me, I call it art because it makes me feel something. Because I feel like I can relate to it. Because I feel like I can understand what the artist was feeling.

Van Gogh was well-known to be a troubled man. He suffered from depression, and did not find success as an artist until after his death.

The thing that I like about so many of his works is that they make me sad. It may sound strange to say it like that, but it's true. He was a sad man, and that sadness radiates off of the canvas. Sure, I like Starry Night, everyone likes Starry Night, but he had so many masterpieces. Starry Night looks like he was looking at the sky through tears.

The exhibit we went to did not have Starry Night, but it did have Self-Portrait. I love this one. He looks so angry. Almost hateful. Somewhere beneath the rage in his eyes, I see a sense of self-loathing.

To look into his eyes in this painting is to feel his pain. He is so serious. You can't smile for this picture. You can only try to understand an artist who seems to have been caught by surprise, who did not have time to paste a fake smile on his face, who showed a vulnerability that he didn't necessarily want to show.

How did he paint this? Did he spend his winter of 1886-7 looking at himself in a mirror? Examining every detail of his face, the darkness behind his eyes? Did he struggle to look at himself?

When I have been in the deepest depressions, I have had trouble even looking myself in the eyes in the mirror. There have been times when weeks or months have passed and I haven't seen my own eyes because I couldn't bear to look at myself.

Did he feel some catharsis in painting himself? Did it hurt him to have to look at himself just to get this painting done?

I, too, have suffered from depression at various points in my life. I look into his eyes, and I feel a certain, almost, kinship, and then I saw this:

This is Man with Spade. The write-up next to it said that this was a worker taking a lunch break from digging ditches, but what I saw was a soldier, exhausted, after digging graves. Yes, I know that it's dark, but it is Van Gogh, and again, it felt like grief radiating from the charcoal in the sketch.

A Trunk of a Tree. Not a painting, but a pen and sepia on paper. I love the details in this work. I love that the top of the tree appears very intentionally detailed, with strong lines. I love that the trunk of the tree is remarkably understated, as if added detail would be unnecessary. I just love this.

 Finally, here is Constantin Meunier's Ophelie. It is not a Van Gogh, but I saw this painting out of the corner of my eye and I was drawn to it. The paleness of the figure. The darkness of her gown. The storm clouds to the right, and what looks like a clearing in the sky on the left, as if her troubles are past now that she has taken this final action.

I so enjoyed our visit to the museum, and The Husband was kind enough to buy me goodies from the gift shop. I was very tired, as this was the longest I had been on my feet. What this means is that my impulse control was all but gone, and I wanted ALL the Van Gogh souvenirs from the gift shop. I didn't get ALL of them, but I got two beautiful packs of notecards (who wants to be a pen pal?), stickers, a print, some postcards to put in my journal, and a magnet (that I made Z buy for me).

So there you have it: proof that I can do more than read books and have cancer! Ha!

Flu season quarantine and the travel dilemma

Over the course of the last several months, I have had multiple invitations to visit friends and family, as well as multiple offers to have friends and family to visit me. While I love to travel, I don't know yet if I am allowed to fly; remember, I have a piece of skull cut out of my head (the so-called brainhole) which may affect my ability to fly. In addition, because I am on chemotherapy, I am immunocompromised. So even if I were allowed to fly to visit my friends, I'd be worried about catching some germ or the other, because I have gotten sick EVERY time I have gotten on a plane, including catching the flu in Florida and a horrible sinus infection on the way to Italy.

According to the CDC, flu activity in South Carolina is high.

CDC flu data

The absolute last thing that I want to do is have cancer AND the flu. What this means is that, with the exception of one event I might attend in a couple of days, I am putting myself in voluntary quarantine. The only person allowed in my house is The Husband because he is cute and I love him. Anybody else is barred from visiting. I will not be hugging or even shaking hands with people.

While I would love to travel to see my friends all over the country, the Gofundme would have to be much more successful for that to be a possibility, and to be honest, I probably shouldn't be getting anywhere near any red or orange states in the image above for the time being.

At least for now, I have to settle for being a homebody. If you want to visit with me, download Skype. Text me. Email me. Just no hugs!