A New Week

Hey guys, a week with no additional troubling news from the doctor's office. Am not on the experimental drug, but have started the next standard one that's not so tough on the bone marrow. Most folks tolerate it well. As the doctor says, if I want to boogie, now's the time to do it.

Yesterday I superseded myself by putting in six hours of writing. Am now up to page 29 of Magda, the Divine. Here's a line from Magda's becoming aware of her destiny matching up with that of the parasailing gringo who came to woo the young woman next door:

Magda felt a tug at her chest as though she, too, were airborne, tethered to the speed boat by the same great rope that kept Sr. Karl from floating off into the universe like a lost balloon.

As I mentioned last week, Mama Linda, who inspired the character of Magda, was here to visit us from Mexico. She's almost eighty, speaks no English, and is a dynamo. As always, she cooked for us as part of her love made visible, insisting we buy eleven pounds of corn tortillas from the tortilleria to get things rolling. She also prayed unceasingly for me, asking God to "take that illness and cast it into the depths of the ocean."

I'm looking forward to having the kids home at spring break the end of March for a work party to tackle the basement where my accumulated "stuff" hulks. We'll be sorting, saving, reminiscing, letting go, with evenings reserved for eating out, going to plays and generally cozying up as a family.

May the birds be chirping out your window as they are out mine--reminds me of a line I made the kids learn in order to get a popsickle when the popsickle truck came round: For lo, the winter is past. The time of the singing of birds is come.

Diane

One of Those Weeks

Hello, crew. Since none of the rest of you is even going to dream of getting cancer, I want you to imagine a magnificent Valentine's Day where you receive a hundred red hearts from people who care about you. Think how that will make you feel. Sort of like me. Floating on a layer of love from valentines that have been coming in ever since last September.

The good news this week is I'm on page nine of Magda, the Divine. Am trying to work back into a disciplined writer's schedule. I've signed a contract with myself to at least get in touch with my novel every day and have started a writer's log to keep me on track.

The not so good news is that despite the rally of my red blood cells, last week my cancer marker numbers started backing up the scale instead of sliding down it. That means that all the cells that are going to respond to the particular drugs I was on have responded and the strains that have not are trying to gain an advantage. It was rather a bummer and I kept the news to myself for the weekend while I processed it and until more details were available. A little lonely, but I think I needed to be able to deal with just my own bumming. An occasional bumout is the price of getting on with my life. Sort of like getting your chain jerked when you've been off the leash. But that's far better than staying always on the leash by thinking daily of your mortality.

The doctor will soon be starting me on the next best drug and there is some possibility of joining a trial of the new biologics that target only the cancer cells. In the meantime, the doctor, when pressed, said barring Divine Intervention he does not see me as a candidate for 5-year survival, but anticipates he'll still see me in his office a year from now.

This week my father's widow from Mexico will be visiting us. Theirs was the marriage where he could speak no Spanish and she no English. Mama Linda is a real spark plug and is one of the inspirations for my novel.

Valentine kisses to ya'all,

Diane

Zoomba with momma

Picture this....

There I am, in the back of the dance studio at the Vancouver Community Center, and I'm sweating. A lot. For the past hour, I've been wiggling my hips, attempting to waggle my chest, and zip back and forth across the floor to the sounds of latin, egyptian, indian and african beats.

Frankly, I look pretty awkward, which is why I've positioned myself in the back of the class.

If you look up to the front, right next to the instructor, however, you'd see mom. She got her sassy black tank top on, a scarf around her head, and she's moving all over the place. She's amazing. And I'm so proud.

Shake it, momma.

Valarie

Moving Along

It must be the spring-like weather we've had for the past week that has me making progress. At long last on Friday I finished revising my children's novel and sent it out into the world. Which has freed me to return to my adult novel that I'd been busily gathering material for last summer. Just to make it official: Monday I started the narrative. So there she was, Magda Morales, widow of Madero, sweeping her front patio as though it mattered on a cold February day in Ensenada. I hope to have the first draft finished by October.

My red blood cell count dipped last week, as expected a week after chemo. Because that makes a person anemic and therefore breathless, I slipped out of my aerobics class last Friday when the instructor sent us jogging around the room for the 3rd time in half an hour. Valarie asked me if I was still communicating with my red blood cells, giving them a picture to work with. That sounded a little more intimate than racing through my marrow in a Mini Cooper. I asked them to consider the pomegranate: plump, juicy, healthy. When I reported this to my nurse as she drew blood for another hemoglobin check, she said I should tell them to be fruitful and multiply. :~) What would I do without her.

The lab report a few minutes later showed a 3 pt rise in my levels--50% more than two weeks ago when I surprised the doctor with a 2 pt gain. Amazing what liver pills, creative visualization, and the backing of the home fans can do. I love getting your comments, e-mails, cards and visits. Like the string of a kite, you keep me grounded and encourage me to fly.

Hope you're seeing a little Spring your way, too.

Diane