Hurricane Irene

Scattered tree branches on the lawns and a few downed trees are the only evidence that Hurricane Irene passed through our area early this morning. The sun shone for a few hours this afternoon, though it turned rainy and windy again. We aren't amongst the 5 million who lost power, and since our house is on high ground, we haven't had issues with flooding. Hopefully those less fortunate are able to stay safe and have power restored quickly.

While I am thankful Irene wasn't as viscious a storm as she could have been, Katelyn seems to be disappointed. Despite her limited sentence structures and vocabulary, she expressed that she wanted Tornado Irene to come. Why? Her obsession with the Wizard of Oz continues, and the only way to get to Munchkin Land is by riding a tornado. Although it takes retraint not to react to Lily's loss by always making Katelyn happy, in this case, it was very easy to say, "You don't always get what you want."

We are thankful to have been so fortunate and are praying for those who have been hurt by this storm.

Pretty or Pretty Irrelevant?

My hair is half an inch long now. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but it's a good quarter inch.

One of my new friends, who was diagnosed with APL this year, just completed her second round of outpatient Daunorubicin chemotherapy. Only some of her hair fell out again. Her family says its not noticeable. Great for her! Hopefully I will fare as well.

My hair is almost long enough to look like an intentional haircut. I'd rather not have to start over. Bald during the summer keeps me cool. Bald during the winter would be quite chilly. I'd need one of those shearling lined bomber hats with the ear flaps.

I've been debating whether to post a picture of me without a hat on. I'm comfortable with the look, and so is my family. A compassionate cancer survivor whom I met this year gave me her blond wig, since her hair has grown back. When I put it on and approached Katelyn, she started shrieking. She didn't stop crying until I'd removed the wig. The other week, I asked my husband if he could change one thing about me, what would it be. He said, "I'd want you to have short hair, which you already have, so I'm good."

In general, I've become comfortable not wearing a hat around those people with whom I'm close. But why am I so afraid to post a picture or walk through the grocery store without a hat? It's not that I'm afraid to have strangers realize I had cancer. It's because I'm scared they will think I am ugly.

It's a ridiculous fear. I shouldn't worry what others think of my appearance. My attitude and what I do with it are far more important than how I look. My parents raised me to focus on achievement rather than appearance, and we are doing the same with Katelyn. When she masters a new skill, she yells, "I did it." She has one baby doll, but also a toy airplane, firetruck, motorcycle tricycle, and a basketball hoop. Her favorite library book this week is called, "I Stink," by Kate Mcmullen. It's about a garbage truck. She doesn't know any of the names of the Disney princesses.

We're not intentionally withholding the princesses from her, or anything else girly. We smile when she blows kisses to the garbage truck. If she becomes interested in the princesses, we'll play along. We want Katelyn to use her imagination any way she wants, and to have fun. Throughout her life, however, she will be inundated with the message that pretty is important. Right now, if she'd rather hear a story about a garbage truck than learn Cinderella's tale, than that's what we'll read.

There is so much emphasis in our society on the way girls look instead of what they accomplish. I see evidence of this in the way girls have reacted to the lack of hair my hats signify.

(True) True Grit

"True Grit" became a buzz phrase this spring when the Coen Brothers' remake of the 1968 film adapted from the Charles Portis novel was nominated for ten Academy Awards. Since Sunday, when I spent the day with my younger brother, Matt, the expression has been buzzing in my head. In the story, U.S. Deputy Marshall Rooster Cogburn is described as having "true grit." But his fortitude is fiction. Matt has reminded me that there is such a thing as (true) true grit.

Last week, Matt was promoted from his role at Nougatine to Garde Manger at an affiliated restaurant, Jean Georges-- the premiere restaurant in the famous chef's portfolio and one of only nine restaurants in the United States to have earned three Michelin Stars in 2011. For any aspiring chef, Jean Georges represents the pinnacle of employers. Understandably, Matt's very excited, which made his accident Saturday even harder to bear.

A Poison Mystery (Part 1)

On July 31, 1922, 17-year old Lillian Goetz ate lunch at the Shelbourne Restaurant and Bakery on the corner of Broadway and 25th Street in New York City. Deborah Blum writes in The Poisoner's Handbook, "According to police reports...Lillian ordered a tongue sandwich, coffee, and a slice of huckleberry pie. It was the pie that killed her."

That hot summer day, almost exactly 89 years ago, 60 people became sick and six died, including Lillian, who worked as a stenographer for a dress goods firm located near the Shelbourne. Investigators determined that arsenic had been added to the dough bowl. They suspected the dastardly deed had been done by the  baker or his assistant, but it was never proven. Instead, lunch customers at other restaurants that summer began refusing to order huckleberry and blackberry pie for dessert.

Before my first five week round of the arsenic treatment, my Uncle Bobby told me about the book, "The Poisoner's Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York." He informed me it contained a chapter dedicated to arsenic. My response: "You are crazy. Do NOT give me that book." I had zero interest in learning the details of the gruesome history of an element I was about to have injected into my body 50 times.

Apparently, Uncle Bobby is crazy. Either that, or he really cares about me (he has been very supportive throughout this ordeal). During my visit back home two weeks ago, he gave me two new books, one of which looks to be a fast-paced thriller. The other, not surprisingly, was The Poisoner's Handbook. I debated whether or not I should read the chapter on arsenic. After much deliberation, I concluded that a willingness to become knowledgeable about the chemical element would be proof to myself that I am mentally tough. Besides, Dr. Goldberg had said my drug is "different" than the arsenic used to poison...

If This was a Thank You Speech at the Oscars, I would get the Hook

Thank you so much to everyone who has been supportive of our family. It feels so good to know we are loved and receiving your prayers. The below is the view from my hospital bed. Without it, these days would be a lot tougher. I have loved hearing the updates from "The Real World." The emails have been just as cherished.

My guardian angel/memento/book collection sits next to the window with the view of the Manhattan skyline. As breathtaking as the skyline is, I prefer to look at my collection. The hustle and bustle of the city is not what I need right now. Your warm thoughts are what power me through. Aunt Lynn, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Bobby, your continued cards and packages have been sustaining. I love and miss you. And thank you Aunt Laura for working with the Cancer Society.

Thank you to my U of MN rowing team. I cannot believe it's been ten years. I have a lot of goals for when I get out of here, and having the strength to do a Power Ten on my erg is one of them. I'm sorry I missed seeing you at the reunion. Thank you Sarah for sending the package and channeling your positive coxswain karma..

Thank you to Jen, my mom, and Kelly for the clothes and hats. My style when I leave here will put the Royal Wedding and Kentucky Derby fashionistas to shame.

Mom (a.k.a. Mouse according to Katelyn), Dad, Matt, Jeff, Jen, and DiAnne: thank you for all the help with Katelyn and Ryan. Thank you to my family for sitting by my bedside, and for reminding me every day how much you love me and how this is just a blip in a wonderful life. I am sure at times you must have been really scared. Lucky for me, I was mostly too doped up during those times to appreciate the setbacks. But now that I do get them, I'm sorry I've caused you concern. We will get through this.

Thank you to Solar Capital for the food that has kept Ryan and Katelyn going ( I have to admit: I am a little suspicicous that Ryan has altered the orders to include more comfort junk food,or he is making side trips to the 7/11...). My bosses and team have been incredibly supportive. I will feel so enthusiastic about returning to work once I'm well enough. I miss all of the team, and the excitement of building our business.

And certainly not least: thank you to my neighborhood friends, both for the meals and the emotional support. At times, I have trouble getting through your heartfelt emails without crying, but I have desperately needed them nonetheless. Audra, your bravery to help me through this, given Sylvie's experience, can be nothing less than a gift from God.

As soon as I'm up for a relaxed backyard BBQ, it is happening. And I'm making you all wear hats!

I hear the Oscar music starting up, my cue to exit stage left.. Anne Hathaway is giving me a dirty look. I return the glare and mumble as I pass her, "Cancer patients can do whatever they dang well want." Then I do an interpretive dance of the Black Swan for good measure.

Drugs, Drugs, Drugs

If I were an elite athlete, I would not be an elite athlete. It would be impossible for my multiple Dixie cup-filled helpings of pills each day to pass any drug test (In addition to the qualifier that elite athletes should be capable of more than walking down the hall gripping an IV pole in one hand and a family member's arm with the other.)

A particular hurdle to a clean drug test would be the steroids they've been giving me to help control the bleeding in my lungs. They are starting to taper me off of them, which is good news, but the withdrawal has side effects. These effects would have been good to understand before last night. I did not sleep at all last night and had a crushing headache. If I'd understood at the time the effect was from the steroids, I would have asked for stronger pain meds. Instead I was in a hormonal foul mood all morning. I've really been trying to be nice to everyone here (It's not their fault I'm going through this.), so I feel bad.

Luckily, late morning, a nice dose of Percocet improved my outlook. A surprise visit from my brother Jeff helped tremendously. Katelyn is sick, so neither she, my mom, or Ryan could visit today. So it was particularly good to have Jeff here.

No matter how hard I try to stay positive, it's not always easy. I am exhausted, and worn out from drug after drug. They just took me down to CT Scan to make sure my headache from this morning was not a result of internal bleeding. I'm trying not to worry about this, but it is just one more thing that makes me nervous.

The lead oncologist has said once I am discharged from here, I will need to be connected to my local hospital for at least five months for phase two of the treatment. Well let me tell you: once I am totally better and can travel, that will be one heck of a trip.

Again, thank you everyone for your words of encouragement. On a day like today, they've been especially important.

Say it with Pizza

A royal wedding happened today, the buildup to which lasted over a month. During that month, I had a great vantage point for watching the unveiling of the details. For instance, while waiting for the big kiss on the balcony, I brushed the last of my long blonde hair from my head (Who would have thought a kiss could make me cry so hard?).

One of the most interesting details I heard about from my hospital bed was the creation of a pizza with Kate's and William's portraits on it. Though I've never met them, I am sure they are a lovely couple. But if anyone deserves to have his profile on a pizza, it is my loving, supportive husband Ryan. He promised to love me in sickness, and he has done just that.

Just like Kate, his hair could be fashioned out of black olives. Though he would probably have to be made out of deep crust. A week ago, I watched him devour an entire two pound bag of jelly beans while listening to the head oncologist explain the complications that were sending me to the ICU. A pepperoni slice shirt would well symbolize the t-shirt he wore while sleeping next to me many nights on the pull-out chair. Glazed mushrooms for the eyes would represent all the hours he's spent combing medical resources and questioning my mom and doctors to understand my condition.

While I don't think my pizza could turn out as well as PaPa John's below, once I'm better, I am going to try my hardest to create an Ode to Ryan Pie to show him just how much his support has meant to me.

My 14-month-old Role Model

My niece, Elise, is as happy and carefree as a baby can be. She loves Elmo and climbing on anything she shouldn't. She also doesn't give a damn that at 14 months, she is still bald, and thus has to dress in pink and wear head bows, so strangers don't comment on "what a cute little boy he is."

My hair has not started falling out yet, but Elise is already my role model.  She is gorgeous just the way she is. I cannot hope to look as cute as she, but at least I can try to have as care-free an attitude about it.

Losing one's hair seems to be a big deal when one has cancer. Maybe I will care more later, but right now it seems inconsequential compared to everything else I've been going through. So Elise, I love you dearly, and look forward to headbow shopping with you.