Rally the Troops

If you're reading Adrian's blog, news has changed.  My attending told me that they are completely sure it's AML, just not sure of the specific subtype.  But they've ruled out certain subtypes that would change my course of care.

What does that mean for Our Beloved Heroine?

The induction of chemotherapy will be what's called "3+7".  Three days of daily dosing of idarubicin along with Ara-C given continuously for seven days.  I'll feel pretty good during this time.  Second week is when I feel like charred dog crap (nausea, fever, rash, mouth sores, hair loss, infection)  That's when the good times will be rolling.

Day 13 or 14 I'll be tapped for another bone marrow biopsy to see if my marrow is clean of The Stupid Cells.  If clean, I'm in remission.  If not, more poison juice in the bloodstream.  

But right now, I'm just thinking about getting through each day.

Before I go off to sleepytown, my eternal gratitude goes out to all of those who commented, e-mailed, called or dropped by.  Normally, I am a pretty introverted gal, but all this socialization has done wonders for my spirits.  All your prayers and good support is bolstering me for the battle ahead, in a way helping put on my armor and sheathing my sword for me.

Tomorrow, I mount my steed. 

This Sucks

Hey guys, quick update. I finally got free of my umbilical cord of saline long enough to type a bit on the computer here in my room. I'd like to get some valuable crappy cable TV viewing in before the Ambien kicks in, so this will be brief.

I won't go into too much detail about my experiences 'cause that would just rain on The Mister's parade over at his blog. He's doing a bang up job detailing my medical experiences over the past few months.

Here's the short of it: I'm severely anemic, more than likely aplastic anemia. The docs are searching for a solution to my severely low blood counts-which likely caused all the heart problems I've been having. Since I've been in the hospital, I've been pumped with four units of blood, bringing my counts up slightly, but not to the point where the docs feel good about discharging me.

Today I had a bone marrow biopsy . This was TEH BIG SUCK. I had a pathologist (who bore a striking resemblance to Oliver Platt) basically bore a hole in my hip and jam some big ass needle into my bone to pluck out some marrow. Fucking A that hurt. Felt like someone reaching into my body and yanking really hard on my hipbone. Then kicking me really hard in the ass a few times.

Y'all are all smart people; guess you can figure out the gist of the situation when bone marrow becomes involved.

There's all sorts of tales to tell about my experiences thus far, but I'm pooped from sitting on my ass all day on a hospital bed. At least I'm out of the hospital gown and into my own pj's.

From the bottom of my blood-deprived heart, I want to thank all of my interweb friends for their good wishes and prayers and love. I swear, when I get to the other side of this, I am going to save my pennies for a trip 'round the world to give each one of you a big ole' hug and a baked good.

Thanks to my Richmond friends who have been calling, stopping by, bringing me magazines and YUM doughnuts. I've got some of the bestest buds a gal could ask for.

Once all the news that is fit to print comes to light, I will try my darnedest to blog about it soon-ish.

Over and out from St. Mary's Hospital, room 618

Mix Tape Monday: Long Distance Requests and Dedications

First, thanks to everyone who expressed their concern regarding my crappy ticker. I have my good days and bad days. As long as I relax and get plenty of sleep (Both of which are contrary to my nature.) I seem to feel okay. Bright and early on March 17th I will report for my series of wacko tests, so I'll be celebrating the Feast of St. Patrick by running with some electrodes strapped to my chest. I'll be sure and wear my Guinness shirt for good luck.

I've decided to add a regular feature to my blog. I was doing pretty well with Five for Friday, and then I guess my brain ran out of steam. Maybe it'll pop back up now and again, however I'd like to dedicate Mondays to making mix (blog)tapes for my friends. Seeing as I like being all secretive and shit (Something which is contrary to the nature of blogging.), I won't name names. I have no clue who of my friends and acquaintances have stumbled upon my on-line babbling, so I'll keep things purposely vague. It's more fun that way.

And please don't expect a lot of indie or obscure stuff. My taste in music runs through a tributary just a hair off of the mainstream. I had a roommate in college who worshiped Pavement, Dinosaur Jr., and Sebadoh, and I liked that shit about as much as I liked the fact that she once knocked over a giant, butt-filled ashtray all over our carpet and never bothered to clean it up.

This Monday I'll be dedicating songs to my readers/commenters/fellow bloggers. Some of these songs have historical relevance to our friendship. The others... well, hit up iTunes and figure it out on your own.

And if I've left anyone out, let me know so I can put another dime in the jukebox for ya, baby.

Husband: "Superman" R.E.M.
Alex: "Ladykiller" Lush
Boo: "Fire With Fire" The Goxxip
Girl with Curious Hair: "Buenos Aires" from Evita
Jamie: "Cherry Bomb" The Runaways
Kim: "Friday I'm in Love" The Cure
Kolby: "Intergalactic" Beastie Boys
Mariah: "Sugar Magnolia" The Grateful Dead
Miss V: "Sea Lion Woman" Feist
Evie: "Human Behavior" Bjork
TK: "Sunday Morning Coming Down" Johnny Cash
Vermillion: "Got to Give it Up (Part 1)" Marvin Gaye
P'Nut: "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" Scissor Sisters
Neal: "Battle of Who Could Care Less" Ben Folds Five
Stacy (AKA Lightlysalted): "Love Me or Hate Me" Lady Sovereign

Bloody Little Fist of Fury

Almost eighteen months ago, Sadie Thies was born. Then she almost died. Of a broken heart.

Her life is a testament to God's grace, her parent's strength, and the wonders of modern medicine. Not only did Sadie fight to survive her congenital hear defect, she took that bad boy down to Chinatown and kicked it's ass from here to next Sunday. She's a nutty gal with the biggest eyes I've ever seen and an amazing talent for fit-pitching. Glad she made it through her ordeal; I predict that some day she either try to beat Little A up or kiss him. Or maybe both.

Feb 7-14 is national Congenital Heart Defect awareness week, and I'm supporting Kim (Sadie's mom and an old friend) by sticking a link in my sidebar through the month of February to hopefully raise some awareness about CHD. I had no idea until Kim educated me that more kids have CHD than do Downs Syndrome, Cystic Fibrosis, hearing loss, or Sickle Cell anemia. I am forever thankful that the worst I've suffered with Little A's health is a few colds and the typical boy-related injuries.

Anyway, check out the link to the CHD Information Network. Learn a little something, will ya?

Sour Milk

We lov'd, and we lov'd as long as we could
Til our love was lov'd out in us both;
But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure has fled:
'Twas pleasure that made it an oath.

-John Dryden

Last night I got a hastily dashed off MySpace message from my college friend Kelly informing me that she'd split with her husband. She had taken her daughter and moved off to a new city; she has no job, no plan. It is frightening and liberating at the same time, she wrote. The news surprised me but didn't shock. When I visited her this summer, there was a tinge of malaise that I just couldn't place. Now maybe I understand.

All day my heart's been aching for Kelly and her little gal. I know Kelly is strong, but I also watched her go through an icky breakup in college and the bruises from that one took a while to heal.

Kelly isn't my first friend to get divorced, but she is the first one to go through the ordeal of a busted marriage with a child. I always viewed "divorce + kids" as something that happened to people older than me, but now clearly I've reached and surpassed another Older Than Me cliff on my climb up Age Mountain.

Whenever a marriage in my circle of friends dissolves, it makes me thankful so very much for the great relationship I have with my husband. Last night after reading and replying to the message, I went downstairs and wrapped my arms around Adrian while he was trying to load the dishwasher. I may not believe in an idealized romantic true love, but I sure as shit believe in soul mates. How else do you explain a man so willing to put up with my insanity for thirteen years? He's my best friend, my partner in crime, and my rock (except way cuter). He's the big pole in the middle of my circus tent.

The flip side to my gratitude is a gnawing fear: How do I know the same thing won't some day happen to me? No one I know woke up the day they got married and thought, "Aw, what the hell. In a couple of years, I can always get divorced," but rather saw themselves entering into a partnership that would carry them through their final days. The adage about marriage being hard work never made much sense until I actually got married, then made doubly sense after having a child. It's a shame to see people give up making it work. It's scary to wonder if you'll ever run out of steam too.

A friend once shared with me a golden nugget of his mother's wisdom. His mother said that people get married the first time for sex, the second time for children, and the third time for money. (She herself being thrice wed.) At the time, I just thought he was being a cock about my own impending nuptials (He was.), but now after I witness yet another friend turn in her wedding ring, maybe there's a grain of truth in that somewhere.

But not for me. The milk in this house is ULTRA-pasteurized.

I *Heart* Deron Murphy

It's good to have friends who don't just tolerate your eccentricities but encourage them. Even toss water on them and feed them lots of sugar past midnight.

My pal/former co-worker Deron fills that role in my life with regards to my mild obsession with zombies. He was fortunate enough a few weeks ago to be able to attend a talk given by Max Brooks (My Hero!) as part of Brown University's Zombie Film Festival.

I, on the other hand, decided to forgo said film festival in favor of my ten year college reunion.

Because I am a moron.

But Deron, being the wonderful, enabling friend that he is, offered to take my copies of The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War with him to get signed. Yesterday, my books returned to me, and I almost passed out with joy.



I sincerely hope Max makes it down here to the RVA to speak. According to Deron he was engaging, sarcastic, and entertaining. I'd love to chat with him about whether or not he thinks George Romero's social commentary works in the zombie film genre or if Romero's just blowing smoke, trying to put more significance into his creepy gorefests than they are worth. Also, I'd like his tips on surviving the zombie apocalypse with a toddler in tow.

Then maybe I'd get all superfan geeky and tell him that his Survival Guide was the catalyst for helping me overcome my tremendous phobia of zombies. And that because of him I ask for a machete every year for Christmas. One with a black blade.

So Much to Say

And so little time to blog.

Here's the short list of Clan Amos updates:

Alastair has now pee-peed in the potty three nights in a row. Urination completely fascinates him. If only we could all be as enamored of our bodily functions.

His vocabulary has expanded to now include baby-sized sentences like "Momma sit," "I eat," "I fall down," and my favorite "I kick ball." which sounds remarkably like "I kick butt." He's learning to identify things as "Ah's" (The way he says his own name), including me as "Ah's Momma".

He has also entered this exciting new phase whereby instead of lying down for his nap peacefully like he has for pretty much his entire life, he shrieks and cries as if someone is ripping his arm off. Today, after an hour of this keening, he finally passed out for a brief snooze. Momma A sat in a lawn chair in the backyard drinking a Coke Zero and smoking two cigarettes until all was quiet.

There have been moments during these daily shriekfests when I ponder why it was I wanted to have a kid in the first place. I suck so bad at this whole mother thing.

This phase coincides nicely with our trip to Virginia Beach this weekend. I anticipate hours spent playing in the sand, soaking up the sun, and then later tearing my hair out as my kid goes bananas in his portable crib.

Ah, motherhood.

To update my previous post about the perils of night jogging, I learned from the many comments that my best bet was to either find a ninja for a running partner or become a ninja myself. Since none of those are happening any time soon, Adrian and I have devised a schedule that prevents me from having to run in the dark. Three days out of the week, I run about an hour after dinner while it is still light. The other three days I run on my machine or cross train. I'm still thinking the Subtle Safety Ring might make a dandy stocking stuffer.

Finally, as yet another update on a previous post, I uncovered my old high school friend Kristin on Facebook (Any one else think Facebook is utterly wacky?) and have exchanged a few messages with her. Oddly enough, she seems to have completely forgotten where I went to college. I find this strange and mildly insulting considering she visited me there on more than one occasion. I guess it's true; you never really can go back.

Wish me luck and travel blessings as Clan Amos braves yet another trip with Crazy Ass Toddler Kid.

Five For Friday

AA lot has been said by quite a good number of psychologists, sociologists, and ye olde cultural wonks about how the ever expanding technology that has allowed humans to be in constant contact with one another is also pushing us further apart. We spend hours at the helm of a computer or cell phone, texting and e-mailing and instant messaging, but our face time, our old-fashioned sittin' on the porch having a palaver time, with one another is diminishing at rapid speed.

Strangely enough, over the past six or seven months, I have actually reconnected with a fair number of old friends using that great anti-social demon Internet, specifically goofy MySpace. I'm in regular contact with college friends with whom I haven't seen in ten years, friends from summer camp, old work buddies. Heck, I even flipped over the right cyber-rock and found my beloved date from prom. There are still friends out there with whom I've lost touch for whatever reason that I'd love to rediscover. Maybe some of that will happen this fall at our 10 year college reunion.

Here are five of those friends that I miss dearly:

1. Kristin and first bonded during a seventh grade trip to King's Dominion where we discovered we shared an uncanny ability to be really obnoxious. That day gave birth to a great friendship that lasted through middle and high school. We kept in touch for a few years after I went away to college, but life just pulled us apart. I often wonder where she is today, if she's still in Richmond, if I've passed her on the road or at the mall. Kristin was one of my wild friends; she smoked, drank, and dated older men. I tagged along on some of her adventures and prayed fervently that we would not get caught. Kristin also worshiped New Kids on the Block. Her entire room was wallpapered with their pictures, of this I do not exaggerate. Out of all my female friends during my teenage years, I always felt the most at ease being my true self around her. And we could play the stupidest jokes on people. And put on the best fake fights in public, complete with hair pulling and screaming.

2. Ezra is still, hands down, one of the most intelligent people I've known. And I'm saying this after spending four years at a total nerd college. To give you an example, when Jurassic Park came out, we went to see it. I thought the dinosaurs were really well done and much scarier than I expected; Ezra got inspired to learn more about chaos mathematics and checked out some books from the library to read. On summer vacation. Ezra and I met in freshman gym class, but didn't really become close friends until our junior year. We'd spend hours sitting in his big ass Suburban, drinking coffee, and discussing movies, literature, life. He got me turned on to the genius that his Douglas Adams, and I dragged him to see Strictly Ballroom. It was during one of these chatty sessions the summer before we went away to college that he said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, mostly because it came from him. He went off to Harvard, and while we saw each other a few times during vacations and traded e-mails into sophomore year, we slowly went our separate ways. I'd love to see him again if only to tell him that I still carry that complement in my heart and that I'm no longer peeved he didn't ask me to prom.

3. Whenever I saw Maureen striding across campus freshman year, clad in all black (trenchcoat, pointy boots, tight jeans, and death metal t-shirt) and glaring at people from behind her shades, I would think, "Damn girl, metal is so '87." One evening a year later over dinner with a mutual friend, she ceased to be Scary Death Metal Girl. We had two big commonalities: crazy stories of druggie friends and an abiding love of horror movies. Our typical Girls' Night Out would always end with a viewing of The Exorcist. She is one of the only women I've come across in my life that shares my pseudo-tomboyish nature. After graduation, we exchanged letters, packages, e-mails, but our adult lives and distance (She's in New York.) eventually got in the way. We still send the odd e-mail, but I sure do miss those late-night assaults on the snack machine on my hall and laughter-filled screenings of The Exorcist.

4. The story of how I came to befriend Sean is an exercise in the bizarre Six Degrees nature of my college friendships. We briefly met freshman year because he was friends with Chris who lived in the dorm frequented my roommate Kara and me because one of her high school chums lived there. Also Chris, his roommate, and probably 75% of the male population of that dorm developed a crush on Kara. It wasn't until sophomore year though, when Sean started dating my roommate Jenne, that our friendship developed. I met Jenne through my friend Matt. Matt and I first met because one of his high school friends lived on my hall, but we had actually been told to meet up by a girl Matt dated the previous summer who went my high school. Got it? Are you still with me?

Needless to say, Sean was practically my second roommate sophomore year. He spent so much time hanging out in the German House that he became a de facto resident. While he and Jenne broke up at the end of junior year, our friendship remained. I can't say enough about how much I treasured Sean's friendship. He was one of the few people with whom I could have a meaningful discussion about religion even though we didn't share beliefs. We had a love for both old school punk and bluegrass music. Our relationship was one of those supposedly rare platonic friendships; though it went unsaid, I think any romantic or sexual feelings towards each other would have felt alien and more than a little incestuous for both of us. Sean was a true friend, a really sweet, loyal, trustworthy, giving friend. I don't think more than a few days go by when I don't grieve for the loss of his friendship. Especially since Little A was born. This is such a great new chapter in my life that I wish I could share with him.

5. So really Dominick was always my husband's friend, but he meshed so well with us as a couple that I considered him my friend too. While he spent a lot of time geeking out with my husband over computers, sci-fi, playing pool, etc., he was equally at ease doing things with us together. He was the rare singleton that could run with the smug marrieds and never seem like a third wheel. Dominick was a great guy. We had a very easy, reciprocating friendship. The kind where favors were done and tabs picked up, all with the understanding that you'd repay in kind when it was your turn. Plus, Dominick was always game for going out to shoot pool, seeing a movie, visiting an amusement park on a sweltering day. One 4th of July, he ran around in our street with us, shooting off fireworks and writing in the sky with sparklers. On 9/11 after our hearts had been beaten to a bloody pulp and our circuits fried by the constant news coverage, we called Dominick to come over and try to forget the fact that the end of the world seemed immanent. The only thing on television that we could find not related to terrorist attacks was a showing of Stak Trek III: The Search for Spock. And we watched the whole stinking turd of a movie just because I wasn't about THAT. We laughed at the painfully bad sci-fi, but we were also clinging to each other under the weight of the grief of the day. A few years ago, we get a call out of the blue from Dominick. He tells us that his girlfriend (Who, as the theory goes, never really cottoned to us.) is pregnant, they are getting married, and moving to Maryland. Supposedly, we were to be invited to the wedding. We haven't heard from him since.

Sorry to be big old Debbie Downer there, people, especially as we go into the weekend. There's a hot rod car show at RIR on Saturday and Sunday. Look for Clan Amos there.