"99 reasons", but a Gorilla ain't one!

The following is an excerpt from the eulogy given by Carla's Uncle TJ on June 12, 2012 at her "Celebration of Life" memorial service.


[Now for me personally], I will always treasure the hug and kiss that Carla always gave whether in greeting or departure.  And the feeling of her so warm, soft, clear skin against my cheek.  In the past year I would focus on the feel so that I could store it and keep it alive somewhere deep within.  When she got the tattoo, "Don't delay the happy" on her forearm it allowed me a chance to feel that smooth soft of her arm.  But I have on problem with that quote though.  I embrace the concept of not delaying the happy, but I wish we knew how to fill the empty.  Shortly after it was discovered that the cancer had moved to the lining of the brain, Carla would embrace and hug you a little longer and a little closer.  And I could linger and take in the feeling of that warm soft, clear skin.  You would think that the lingering hug was because she was frightened of what was to come but I believe it was something else.  This hug wasn't for her, it was for us.  It was her way of saying, "I'm so sorry for you and what you must be going through."

On Carla's last visit to my home, prior to her visiting her students for the last time, we talked and laughed as usual but I asked her "how are you dealing with everything."  She said there was a 900 pound gorilla intruding on her life.  I thought she might want to talk openly about it but my own fear made me stop.  I regret that but at the same time I don't really feel Carla wanted to introduce the gorilla into our lives, not yet at least.

So I would like to conclude this eulogy with how that conversation, with Carla, about the gorilla, would have gone.

"Is the gorilla here Carla?"
"Oh yeah, big time."
"What's his name?"
"You know his name, don't shit me."  "And what makes you think it's a him?"
"Well describe gorilla then."
"Well, it has this Grandma Frances' head of hair.  It's da bomb."
"It has Aunt Mary's cheekbones, and Aunt Dee's laugh."
"Oh, and it's a Giant fan." 
"How do you know that?"
"Can't you see his Giant tee shirt?  Like the one Grandpa Scollan wore."
"OK" "Anything else?"
"Not really, but it's weird.  As big as this freak is I'm not afraid.  There's something familiar about gorilla, but I just wish someone else could see it."

So that's my imaginary conversation with Carla about the gorilla that she wrote about in her last blog.  And I need to believe that on a night of torrential sheets of rain, on Russell Road, gorilla moved from the corner of the room where he sat as guardian over Carla and moved to her bed where he spooned in close to Carla to provide shelter from the storm.  And like Pooh Bear and Piglet in "The House of Pooh Bear", Carla said,

"Gorilla?"
"Yes Carla"
"Nothing Gorilla," she said as she took his hand.
"I just want to be sure of you."

And when my gorilla arrives one day, I can now rest assured that when I embrace that gorilla, I will feel that warm, soft, clear skin against my cheek once again.  

Topics to discuss while there is a 900lb gorilla in the room

My internet sources tell me that the heaviest gorilla is between 500 and 600 lbs.  And since the internet is always accurate, my gorilla will just be an exception to the rule. I am pretty certain there is no cap on the weight of my gorilla.

Since the 'new normal' in my house involves this gorilla, conversations can lack in certain ways.  Now that I am living with my parents, again for the third time, how charming, there is a special new dynamic we have to navigate.

There are several topics always up for discussion, whether they should be discussed, want to be heard, want to be spoken about or beaten like a dead horse.

Topics of choice:

• Who has allergies?  Oh we all have allergies.  We can carry on about benadryl, how we sleep, what comes out of our noses, the amount of pollen in the air, how the allergy medicine is actually not working but we are taking it anyway, and how the medicine really makes us feel.
• These allergies lead us nicely into the topic of the weather.  The weather is discussed on a daily basis SEVERAL times.  Actually, MULTIPLE times a day.  Just in case someone isn't aware of what the weather is outside at the current time, someone in the house, will be able to tell you.  The other day, my mom mentioned that it was misty 5 times in 45 minutes!
• The wind.  The wind is constantly spoken about.  New Jersey is very windy.  It appears to be windy all the time.    

         This link can be very helpful to track the windy state of New Jersey. 
         http://hint.fm/wind/

• Sleep.  Everybody's lack of sleep is discussed in the morning.  I don't know why any of us even bother. Sleeping that is.
• The cats.  And thank god for the cats! If the two cats weren't around constantly meowing for food in the kitchen, there literally would be silence at all times.  We will always have the cats to talk about.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that if the cats weren't around begging for food, we would all be faceplanted in our dinner dishes because of sheer boredom.  I mean we actually have conversations with the cats......"Oh, here's Lola."  "She wants food." "No, you can't have any food Lola." "And it's not even chicken."  "Here comes Daniel."  "Oh, oh, stop fighting!"  "Go away." "She'll eat anything.""What are you giving her?" "Daniel, won't eat that." "Just watch." 

It is like constantly playing the card game Kings and always choosing the categories card, except these are the only categories to choose from.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Loaded Baked Potato

Warning: This post is going to be LOADED.  More loaded than a loaded baked potato. 

First of all, the loaded potato. I want one right now. Sounds so gooooood!  I am currently taking a steroid, which means I have "roid" rage, I am completely ravenous, I eat EVERYTHING, I think about food ALL THE TIME, I have an actual steroid baby in my belly, I watch only TV shows about food, I eat about every 2 hours, and I even eat meat. I don't eat meat.  I mean, I watch Man vs. Food on a daily basis. I watch that guy, who should be dead the way he eats, eat 6 lb hamburgers, 5 lb grilled cheeses, which ultimately causes a bit of a gag reflex at first, but then since I'm on roids....I could totally eat that shit!!  And win!   It is insannnnnnnnn.  I may even have to start using cocoa butter for stretch marks on this steroid baby.

On the flip side of 'gaining' this obsession with food, I have lost something very important to me. Something that I have grown to love, accept and embrace with pride.  I have lost........my double wide booty.  Gone. Flat. Non-exsistent.  No where to be seen. I will even venture to say saggy:(  It's like that True Life episode where people lose a shit ton of weight and have all that saggy excess skin! My sister would tell me to do but lifts, or lunges, or perhaps, take a walk.  If I keep talking about it I actually might start crying.  I guess my philosophy about cancer has always been to make it sexy because it's not, and what else do you have? But now that I literally have no control over my body, my face is getting fatter as I type this from the steroid and I am convinced it makes your feet fat too, I am not bringing sexy back, yet.

On February 3rd, I landed myself in the hospital, again.  True to form, just like the first time, it was......a situation.  I woke up the night before in excruciating pain.  It was my knee. My knee? I was up every 2 hours popping liquid morphine, trying to just pass out.  Finally, had to call my mom at 5:30am, or else I would have lost my brain. She came over, not that she could do anything, but I guess I did fall asleep at some point.  Called the doctor and went to the office.  Naturally, when I got there I had to vomit.  And we all know my specific toileting vomiting rule. In the toilet is the only way to go, good thing my mom was 30 seconds too late with the little chemo vomit bag.  I was sent for an x-ray and then had to go back up to the doctor to answer the inevitable question, should I be admitted to the hospital or go home?  The x-ray came back clean, but I gave in and opted for the hospital to relieve the pain.  Whisked away in a wheelchair by an old shaky totally trustworthy volunteer, off we finally go to the old oncology floor, 3AB.

I hop in bed and wait FOREVER for the nurses to come in and check me in, meanwhile vomiting again, this time in the little chemo vomit bag, worst. Where is the IV morphine???????  Oh, there it issssssssssssssssssssssss...................
Now I can be driven, in my bed, down to cat scan for a cat scan of my leg. Again, that comes back clean. And so begins the next 5 days of hellllllllllllllllllll.  These days consisted of, being moved to a private room at some point for low white blood cells (score!), constant never-ending nausea and vomiting, while being pumped with 3 different kinds of anti-nausea medicine, which were clearly not working, and attempting to eat some foods, I think. 

At the end of my stay, I was given my first dose of a new chemo called CPT 11.  Side effects include: hair loss (so far I've been holding on to it!, especially since my mom seemed to imply that I prematurely shaved my head twice), and the most horrible diarrhea of your life.  We will just call this side effect my 24/7 digestive dilemma.  I was so out of it, I was not in the decision making process of this.  But all I knew was that I soon as the last drop of that chemo was in, I was getting the hell out!  Well, no surprise here, my doctor ordered the chemo at 8:30 in the morning and when do you think I actually got it....about 4pm.  Coincidentally, that very day, my nurse happened to be the same nurse, I HATED, four years ago, when I was on that floor.  My doctor actually confronted her about the chemo situation and asked her why I hadn't received it yet.  The nurse did not respond and my doctor said, "That's your cue to speak."  Awkward turtle.  So glad I was "out of it" in bed for that one.

After the hospital, nothing remotely funny happens.  This is where it gets really flippin' real. LOADED.  With extra sour cream.
As soon as I was out of the hospital, I went to my parents and slept in bed with my mother for a month (until I couldn't take the cuddling anymore), continuing on my constant never-ending nausea/vomiting path for 2 full weeks.  During this time I was also experiencing double vision, but I wasn't sure, because I was wearing my glasses all the time, which I never do.  I was getting migraines and headaches, and the left half of my chin and lip went numb.
As soon as the words 'double vision' came out of my mouth at the doctor, I bought myself an MRI. Guuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh.............
I smartened up and took 2 Ativan before that bad boy.  Why did I never do that before?????

I go for the MRI, hoping the technicians aren't as crappy as last time.  But luckily witness this most awesome situation in the waiting room.

You cannot make this shit up!  Listen carefully for the deep snores.  My father kept kicking the wall to see if she would wake up! 

They call me in and we have to talk about why I am there.  The tech asks why I am getting the MRI and I tell him I have double vision and headaches.  So he says, "The doctor wants to check for mets?" My response, "Umm, I have double vision."  He says, "So the doctor is checking for mets in the brain?"  My response, "Uuuh, I have double vision."  Thanks for that buddy.  Anyway, I asked him to talk to me during the scan, and he said we would keep me updated, "2 minutes of noise," "3 minutes of noise," etc.  But I was 2 Ativan in, so it didn't really matter at that point.

Two days later, at the doctor for the results.  My doctor didn't have the results in front of her, so she left to check the computer.  World comes crashing dooooooooowwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnn.  It was like the day I was diagnosed.  But worse. Time stops. The cancer has spread to your dura mater.  The dura mater is the membrane between your skull and your brain.  The MRI shows activity, like a sprinkle of cancer cells all over the membrane. 
?????!!!!!!!!?????!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!??!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????!Hmmm???

Well, that is NOT what I was expecting.  LOADED.  It was like a hit and run.  My doctor quickly explained things while I just sat there, cried and my parents listened. And then I went to get chemo. I sat in my chair just tried to act cool.

A week later, February 29th, Leap Day.  Ironic how this day doesn't really exist. And this day I sat with my doctor to discuss this dura "matter."  It was like and still is a bunch of phrases replaying in my head: quality of life, risks and benefits, limited options, respect your decision, no treatments, spinal tap, spinal infusion chemo, results aren't guaranteed, leaky chemo........NUMB.

WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY FUCKING TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO FUCKING HAPPEN????

So that Stage IV Breast Cancer diagnosis was actually real, huh?

Well, naturally, since I am me, my only option...........is to KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING ASS!

I hate Pink Ribbons

Double Wide Booty

My front door locks automatically when you close it. I enjoy this because there is no hassle with locking the door behind me, etc.  I do not enjoy this when I lock myself out of the house with a 5 month old puppy and a fresh, new cold at 9:30 in the morning.  Panic sets in, well subdued panic sets in, because my brain is stuffed up, which is why I probably closed the door in the first place! 

OK, these are my options:
1) I can walk to my parents house, but I'll never make it and neither will this sweet thing, Penny.

2) I can go to my neighbor's house, but there are 16 people and 3 families that live there and they insist on parking their fucking car in front of MY house, which makes me irate!
3)  I can go to the other neighbor's house, Angie, but she gets mad at us when we leave branches that take up 1 foot of space in front of her house, in the road........one time! It was just one time!
4) I can go 2 houses down to Mr. Creepy McCreeperson's house.  This is actually NOT an option.

So I vote for option 3.  Angie it is. I hope she's ready for me.  She opens the door hesitantly.............maybe it's because I look like one of Jesse Pinkman's degenerate hooligan drug selling friends, from 'Breaking Bad.'  But then she must see Penny in my arms and decides it's safe.  The reason she may think this is because I had a my hood up, nobody wants to see my scary bedhead, glasses, and my Ugg boots on with pants sloppily tucked in that say 'DOUBLE WIDE BOOTY', on the booty. It was like walking into your grandma's house.  I used the phone to call my parents, they have an extra key. No one picked up. I called again, no one picked up.  So Angie, offered me a cup of coffee while I waited. Oh sure, so I sat down in the kitchen and waited for the eternal pot of water to boil with Penny on my lap shaking with fear.  Our conversation was like turning pages in a book, our topics changed that quickly. We talked about Angie's new computer which did not come with an instruction booklet. I suggested calling the number it came with, she said, "I'm not calling India!" She asked if I knew anything about computers....."Nope, nothing, I don't know anything about computers." Next up in conversation was the puppy, and when there were awkward silences we either mentioned the puppy or the weather.  Finally my cup of instant Folgers coffee, with skim milk and sweet'n low, was ready.  It took all of the strength I had left to drink that cup of coffee with a smile.

I know you are wondering why I'm blogging about this, just keep reading.

I was telling her that I was on medical leave, which is why I could take care of Penny.  I could tell she was dying to know why, so I told her I had breast cancer.  And the floodgates open..............
She told me she had breast cancer and pointed the breast that was gone from surgery. And then........she started to cry. This is my reaction, as I am sure it would be yours:

What just happened??

Next thing I know, she asks, "What's your nationality?"  OK, I guess we are moving on.  We spoke about being Italian, how long she lived in her house, when she sold tomatoes with her mother.  We talked about what grocery store we shop at and how we both like the market down the street.  We talked about how she strained her back moving her couch. 

I decided to try calling my parents again, because it took me the whole time to remember what my mother's cell phone number was......what?, I have a smartphone to remember numbers for me!
My dad picked up and I whispered with gritted teeth for him to get over to my house NOW!
When I returned to the kitchen, Angie asked what was written on my pants. "Oh, it's something really inappropriate." 

It was time for me to leave, so I thanked her very much for the coffee and the phone and I told her to put a heating pad on her back. As I was leaving my bestie, I heard her mumbling, "Ohhhhh, wide booty....haha."

By the way, my college roommates and I made these pants as a joke years ago, to a song called, "Booty Man." I naturally got 'double wide booty', my roommates got 'wide booty' and 'wider booty.'

It's time to give cancer the bird

Is it totally cliche that I am posting on New Year's Eve?  And I'm going to be more cliche and tell you what I want for 2012.   I would like to haaaaaaaaave, no bags of blood.  I am getting another blood transfusion next week but let's pretend that it's happening in 2011. 

At this point I have had over 10 bags of blood, so I am looking forward to maintaining a normal or close to normal hemoglobin in 2012.  I am also looking forward to the start of some seriously trashy shows in 2012.  My acupuncturist said I should eat red meat, I'll save that for 2012, maybe.  I would like to learn how to play the guitar in 2012.  I will learn how to dougie in 2012, for real.  Oh, I guess I can kick cancer's ass in 2012......again. 

3 Bags and a Cancer Patient

I have a theory.........if you have cancer you can curse as much as you want and you get a free pass all.the.time.

I remember when I learned that cursing was a bad thing.  Family car ride. We were going through a toll, on the Garden State Parkway, and the driver in front of us missed the basket.  The driver hit the brakes, put the car in park and got out to run back and put coins in the toll basket.  My father got really mad, "Blah, blah, blah, freakin'!!, blah, blah, blah!"  I realize now that I have the worst memory ever and I can't blame it on the a a a a a alcohol...I mean chemo brain.  So all I remember is my dad saying 'FREAKIN'!'   I decided this would be a great time to laugh out loud and repeat what he said. BAD CHOICE. 

I immediately got in trouble for that. 

So now that I have cancer I drop the f-bomb double time.  Sorry Mom and Dad.  If it was appropriate to curse at select hospital staff, I would.  I began my Thanksgiving with a Ct scan and ended it with an MRI, while suffering from a mysteriously 2 week long migraine.  Which means the MRI was on my brain.  Which means I was freaking the fuck out.  You can make me drink bottles of barium sulfate, inject me with dye, radiate my body, access my port over and over and over again, pour toxins in my body, take my blood, give me blood, etc., BUT do NOT put me in an MRI machine.  I can't describe the severe panic that sets in hours before getting an MRI.  It's not just the horrifying sounds that come with an MRI but the the fear of having no escape and being closed in a small space.  Oh right, that's claustrophobia. 


So I noticed lately that the technicians or therapists that do scans treat me and probably others, like robots.  I HAVE FUCKING CANCER! IT'S EATING MY HIP BONE, WHICH CAUSES ME PAIN, THEREFORE I CANNOT GET ON THE TABLE AND BE SHOVED INTO THE MACHINE IN A MATTER OF SECONDS!!!!!  Is what I wish I said.  But naturally I just nod my head, "OK," while clear plastic head gear is secured on my head, similar to this,

pads are smushed on either side of my head, just in case I doze off, an emergency bubble squeezer thing is placed in my hand and, off you gooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Most traumatic experience ever. No wonder I feel the urge to curse at people.

As my cancer cells are being annihilated, my blood must be drowning.  Hemoglobin is at a record low, 6.9.  So let's pump my body with as much blood as we can!


A glimpse of a cancer patient's checklist of goals to accomplish:
15 radiation treatments, with no pants on, check.  And radiation diploma obtained, check.
Clean Ct scan, sort of, check.
Clean MRI pictures, check.
Spending over 13 hours in the hospital in one day, check.
3 bags of blood transfused, check.
2 hospital meals left uneaten, check.
First day I have not been at the hospital since (I can't remember it's been so long), check.