ahoy

When you sniff, the skin that covers the collarbone moves. I had not noticed that until they put in the port this morning, along with its tube that snakes over the collarbone and into the jugular vein. I notice it now, and with the cold I notice that I am sniffing with alarming frequency. It's sore, and I guess it will be for a few days. No regrets, though. In fact, the sedation drugs they gave me for the port were such fun. They made me just plain relaxed. And I say this as someone who is pretty mellow. Or I thought I was a pretty mellow person. Compared to the state induced by intravenous versed (ver-SED) and fentanyl, I guess I am a bundle of nerves. I kind of wish I hadn't learned that, but what a sweet form of experiential learning. I asked the surgeon for a doggie bag; when they pulled the plug on the drugs and the party was instantly over, and I was sure they had leftovers. No dice. No drugs for p....

Here is a shot of the resulting port, which we brought straight to the doc for chemo Round 2. Somewhere in that sentence is a maritime metaphor, but I can't reel it in. Anyway, I'm back to feeling mildly queasy, and if Round 1 was an indicator, I have about 24 hours before my taste buds go kablooey on me and everything tastes bad again. That never entirely left me in two weeks, but it receded enough in the last few days such that ice cream became distinctly better than the salt water I have to rinse with after I eat anything. It was a sad toss up for most of the two-week period.
When we got back from chemo, the mailbox held a FedEx box from Mo, who tailored the picture to the left, with some help from the folks you see in the picture here (thanks to Joan, who is thus missing, for the original shot). This is a gathering of those of us who spent a magical weekend on Block Island in 2008 celebrating the one and only Gigi Wizowaty's 50th birthday. Is this a brilliant gift, or what. It is virtual solidarity, yet feels real.

And yet the hair stays on. By this time, I am beyond the deadline for its departure. All this build up; it's like waiting for the tooth fairy. I keep checking my pillow. I feel like when it goes, it's going to be pretty dramatic, like this:

One nice thing about having very short hair is that now, for the first time in either of our lives, I look more like T'ai than I look like Ting and Yani. Ting, Yani, and I are constantly being told we're peas in a pod -- one pea a bit more shriveled than the others, but hey -- and T'ai feels like chopped liver. Handsome chopped liver, but out of a loop. The other day he stood in the kitchen and said, "Finally, mom, you look more like me." Here are a couple of shots to prove it. Pay no attention to Dave, about to slam me with a frying pan. I am getting my revenge by leaving in his red eyes.