Calling all comedians

Help!

I need some levity in my life right about now, and I'll accept it in any form. Funny book, tv or movie suggestions. Entertaining posts. Emailed jokes or personal stories. Funny greeting cards. Funny websites, YouTube videos, cartoons.

If it's made you merely crack a smile or laugh until you choked on your own spit, I want it.

My mental health thanks you in advance.

Now what?

I am stunned by how little relief I feel from finishing chemo. For 18 weeks, that was my goal, just get through it. Now what?

I've got to find my new raison d'être. Taking a nap can be the highlight of my day for just so long.

I heard about this. It's not being diagnosed with and treated for cancer that's hard. It's the day-to-day living with cancer that's the challenge. I feel this incredible self-imposed pressure to do something meaningful, something exceptional. Something that makes this time I've hopefully gained from going through chemo worth everything.

Surely I've got some new lease on life. Some important perspective to share. Life wisdom gained.

But, right now, I got nothin'. The thought of making plans for anything is terrifying, and yet, I'm not feeling terribly patient.

I guess when napping becomes boring, something will come to me.

And the winner of the second opinion is...

I'm really, really, really tired this week after my last chemo session, so I don't have much that is coherent to say...other than I'm rather out of sorts that the third season of Downton Abbey is already over.

However, I wanted to share that we decided to go to MD Anderson for my second opinion. I've made the initial contact and I can likely be seen next month. Got to get all those medical records together and sent to them before they'll confirm a date.

Now, it's time to confidently move forward...after another nap.

Last chemo tomorrow

Tomorrow will be my sixth and final day in this chemo treatment cycle. It's been 18 weeks since I started. You'd think it would be time for a party, but I don't feel like celebrating. I'm not so naive to think this is the end of the story.

It will be another nail-biting three weeks before I have yet another PET scan to find out if the tumors have shrunk or, glory be, disappeared. NED, no evidence of disease. That's what we're going for.

If the tumors are still present, I will see a thoracic surgeon to determine if I'm a surgical candidate for tumor removal. From what I've read, I think I can be. The primary tumor is out of the picture, the lungs are my only place of metastasis, and there are only three small tumors there. If my current chemo hasn't zapped them, it's good to know that there is possibly another avenue to pursue other than more chemo.

If, if, if, if, if.

But, as long as there are ifs, there is hope.

The weekend report

Just a quick note to say the weekend away was lovely. We had good food and wine. The inn was very comfortable. And, on a gloriously sunny Saturday we plundered through antique shops for about FOUR hours. I can't remember the last time Paul and I had such a nice day.

I think I've only just recovered today, but it's been worth every nap since.

Many thanks to the family and friends who pitched in to make it happen.

A brief respite

For about 44 hours this weekend, Paul and I will be childless. We are celebrating this relatively unusual state of affairs by getting the hay out of town.

We've picked a lazy little antebellum town a short distance away and booked the best room in the best inn in town. We already have reservations tomorrow night at a special place with a magnificent wine list...oh, and pretty good food too.

The boys are gladly spending their weekends with their respective best friends. Backpacks already packed and ready to head out the door as soon as the school bus pulls away.

I'm hoping for energy to browse the antique stores and other shops within walking distance of our inn, but if not, I have my Kindle with several titles calling my name.

Most of you know, Paul and I have had the great fortune to have traveled a lot. We've been in the sands of North Africa, set our feet down -- however briefly -- in Asia on the Bosphorus, spent lazy summer breaks in cottage county in Ontario, drunk way too many piña coladas on a deserted Caribbean isle, and explored most of Europe.

But, I don't think I've ever been so excited about a trip before.

I'm still standing...sort of

I've spent the last two nights vacillating between night sweats and teeth chattering chills. I feel faint if I stand up too quickly. My eyesight isn't all that great. I feel kinda thick headed all the time. And you can start the funeral dirge for my eyelashes and eyebrows.

But, I've got stylish headwear and earrings and I'm still standing...if I remember to get up slowly.

And, according to my friend, Andrea, my hats and earrings are "way better" than this.

Opinions on second opinions

You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.   -- Frederich Nietzsche 

Know that, in life, there rarely is a clear cut right answer. Do your due diligence, make your choice, and confidently move forward.  -- Letter to Allen and Boyce, Beth Mullis Moore

A good friend back in France just reminded me that I previously used this Nietzsche quote as a postscript to my emails. After spending the better part of the last week researching the major cancer centers in the United States, I really needed a reminder that there are many paths, no one necessarily superior to the other.

The second quote is just a reminder to practice what I preach.

I'm working on that due diligence part right now. I can't tell you how many curriculum vitae I've read from how many faculty members at so many medical centers. MD Anderson, Memorial Sloan Kettering, Dana Farber, the Mayo Clinic, the Cleveland Clinic...the list goes on and on. I'm ready to get to the part to "confidently move forward."  BUT THERE IS NO CLEAR CUT RIGHT ANSWER!

Damn my big mouth and damn Frederick Nietzsche and damn a life that can't be black and white.

Before I sign off with my frustrations dangling out there, I feel like I need to offer up some thoughts about my current gynecological oncologist. He's an excellent physician and well trained surgeon. I've agreed with every recommendation for treatment he's made this far, and what he's discussed with me about possible next steps makes sense. Yes, perhaps his musing out loud that I am an enigma wasn't the best choice of doctor-patient communication, but, then again, I've never really felt like I fit the mold in many aspects of my life. In some form or fashion, I've been an enigma for a very long time.

Like one of my Facebook friends recently commented, getting a second opinion about now could be a comfort, if only to confirm that I am, indeed, an enigma.