The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.


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Can you wig it?

Yeah, so, today was the first day I wore one of my wigs in public.

I’ve been worrying that my wigs look like wigs, and that I will walk outside and everyone will think, “Who is she fooling? That’s wig.” And then they will stare at me or possibly try to snatch my wig off my head and run away with it, because apparently I think people are going to bully me like I’m in a middle school again.

I had a few doctor appointments at Kaiser, so slapped on my Jolie wig and headed out the door. I don’t wanna brag, BUT my old hair (my real hair) always gets a lot of compliments at Kaiser. All the nurses and receptionists love my hair. They comment on it every time. They love the red, and they love the cut. The last couple of times their compliments were bittersweet, because I knew that my hair was going to go bye-bye.

I walked in to Kaiser in my wig, and as I was getting on the elevator a Kaiser employee said, “I love your hair. The color looks really great on you.” Instead of pretending it was my real hair, and saying thank you like a normal person, I immediately blurted out, “It’s a wig!”

Ugh. Such a dork.

Of course, I didn’t stop there. Apparently, I need to share my life story: “This is my first time going out in my wig, so your compliment means a lot.”

“I had no idea at all,” she said, politely. “That’s a great wig. It looks amazing on you.”

I got off the elevator feeling so confident. I walked into the oncology department and the receptionist said, “You look so beautiful today.”

“It’s my wig!”

I never learn.

“It’s beautiful. You look like a model,” she lied. She works in the oncology department. I’m sure she sees thousands of wigs, and tells every single patient that they look like a model in their chosen wig. Still, it’s a nice compliment. I’ll take it.

I’m sure that the more I wear the wigs, the more confident I will get about wearing them in public. Unless I’m wearing this one, because I don’t think I’m fooling anyone with this wig.

orangewig


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Hair today, gone tomorrow

Yeah, so, if my hair had a theme song, it would be “I’m Coming Out.”

I’m shedding a lot of hair. A LOT. I thought I was emotionally prepared for it. I knew this day would come. I bought a few wigs and tried to mentally prepare myself. I knew it would be difficult. But I had no idea how emotionally draining it would be to shed my hair. I don’t wear my hair super long, but I have a lot of it – and it’s coming out in clumps. Any time I touch my hair, some hair falls out. I leave a trail of hair behind me wherever I go. It’s in the shower drain, on my pillow, on the couch, on my clothes. Everywhere.

I’m not going to lie. It’s depressing. I shed a few tears about it.

I’ve invested a lot in my hair throughout the years: financially and emotionally. I’ve spent money to get it cut and colored the exact red I love, but more than that my red hair is a part of my personality. I felt like losing my red hair was like losing a part of myself.

It’s silly feeling. It’s only hair, right? You’d think that after dealing with nausea and neutropenic fever due to chemotherapy that losing hair wouldn’t be that big of a deal. And, well, logically, I can yes, it’s not that big of a deal. Emotionally, that’s another matter. It’s tough. With my hair, no one knows I’m doing chemo. Without my hair, everyone will know.

Hair matters. But my hair is not the source of my personality. It turns out my personality was in here all along. *points to heart*

So, I shaved it off.

I was going to get a cute, little pixie cut and transition into my wigs, but I was just so over losing my hair. My scalp hurt, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. So, my sister met me at the salon, and my stylist shaved my head. And you know what? I didn’t cry. In fact, it felt good. My scalp doesn’t ache anymore. It felt like the right thing to do.

Getting ready to go out just got a whole lot easier. Lipstick, wig: Ready!

It’s super weird to not have hair anymore. I just have this peach fuzz. It’s light brown and gray. I look like an aging leopard. I’m not ready to post the post-shaving photos. Maybe I will be ready at some point, but I just can’t do it yet. I know I share everything with you guys, but you’ll just have to be a little patient with me on this.

wigphotos

In the meantime, how about some photos of me in my wigs? That will be fun, right?

wigshot

wigshot2

This wig is my current fave. It’s a little longer than I usually wear my hair – a longer a-line bob. I really love it. It’s more of a copper red than red red, which is nice change. Also, it’s got a really dark brown layer underneath. I’m quite smitten with this wig. The wig came with a name. Apparently, all wigs come with names, which is totally not weird, you guys. So, this wig is Hailey by Noriko. I love it so much I bought a second one in more of a burgundy red.

And because I’ve turned into a wig-buying fool. I also bought this one: Jolie in Chestnut. It’s pretty cute, too – a shorter bob with side-swept bangs.

jolie

jolie2

Hailey is like “Let’s grab drinks, get some fancy dinner and then make out in the car before going upstairs to relieve the babysitter,” while Jolie is more “I started the laundry and now I’m going the grocery store.” I imagine Jolie is the wig I would wear when going to doctor appointments or taking The Kid to the playground.

Speaking of The Kid, I thought he might kinda freak out seeing me in wigs, but he doesn’t care at all. Yesterday, he kinda gave it a second look and then was like, “Whatever, lady. Can you put on ‘Curious George’ for me?” I’m still mommy no matter what my hair (or lack thereof) looks like.


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You give me fever

Yeah, so, I get to have all kinds of firsts thanks to cancer.

For example, on Wednesday night, I got to make my first-ever trip to the ER with a fever of 102. My mother came out to watch the little guy for us, and mighty, mighty good man David drove me to the ER. The doctors saw me immediately. Chemo patients are always fast-tracked, because they don’t want us hanging around sick people. Membership has its privileges, I guess.

Sadly, that’s about when the fast-tracking ended for us. We were in the ER from 9 p.m. to 4 a.m., when they finally moved me into a hospital bed. I had no idea I would be staying overnight, so imagine my dismay when overnight turned into two days. I was admitted early Thursday morning, and released Saturday morning.

I was diagnosed with a neutropenic fever. It is not uncommon for chemotherapy patients. My white blood cell were very low, and I had a fever. There was something going on inside my body, but I didn’t have the power to fight it.

Basically, I laid around in a bed for two days while they hooked up antibotics to my port. The doctor told me that some neutropenic patients are in the hospital for as long as three weeks. Damn! He said being young worked in my favor, and I thanked him for thinking 44 is young.

Everyone had to wear masks in my room. Of course, I mean surgical masks, not Halloween masks. Although that would be interesting. And now a nurse in a Ronald Reagan mask is going to give you a shot. “OH MY GOD! I’ve had nightmares like this. It’s happening!”

The first day in the hospital I was so tired from not sleeping in the ER, but you know they never let you sleep. I tried watching a little TV (and I mean little – I needed binoculars to see the scree), but Kaiser doesn’t spend money on a fancy cable package, so if you don’t like shows with a judge yelling at people then you are pretty much out of luck. I mainly listened to the F This Movie podcast, watched videos of Calvin on my phone and waited for my fever to break.

There's the TV waaaay up in the left corner.

There’s the TV waaaay up in the left corner.

The next day I woke up with no fever, and feeling much more like myself. Good buddies Jess and Beegs came by for a visit, and Jess tried to teach me how to knit. I was so excited. I was doing OK. But then she left, and I pretty much screwed it up right after that, and I don’t know how to fix it. It bums me out, because I was just getting into it. I’m going to have to watch some videos and see if I can get it back on track.

Giants colors - duh.

Giants colors – duh.

The other first I got to experience was my first-ever panic attack. It was terrifying, and I really hope to never, ever have one again. I’ve never been so scared.

I just had finished eating dinner, and I got a little raised rash on both my arms. I immediately started freaking out, and repeatedly checking all over my body to see if it spread. It was on my legs, too. My heart started pounding, and I was pacing around the room. I called the nurse, and I made David promise that he wouldn’t go home until I was OK. I felt out of control. My hands and feet were tingling. “WHY ARE MY HANDS AND FEET TINGLING?” I had a completely overwhelming fear that I was going to die in the hospital, all alone in my room. It took all my self control no to blurt out, “I’M DYING!”

The nurse came in – a nice young man named Lawrence. The rash was not itchy. My throat was not closing up. He called for a doctor and offered me an Ativan, which is an anxiety med plus anti-nausea med. Thankfully, I was smart enough to take it. The doctor came and assured me that I wasn’t crazy. There is a slight rash. It’s not bad. I can still breathe. They would monitor me and nothing bad was going to happen to me.

After that, I just sat in the bed, breathing, and waiting for the Ativan to kick in and take all this anxiety away. After about 20-30 minutes, I was fine. The rash was almost gone, and so was the anxiety. David held my hand through the whole thing. I’m sure he didn’t know what else to do. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not an anxious person. In fact, I’m really mellow. I’ve usually put on a pretty brave face for all the crazy things I’m going through, whether it’s a mastectomy or chemotherapy. I think this is the first time I felt a true, overwhelming fear that I might die, and it’s certainly the first time I ever let anyone else see me like that. David is so lucky, right?

And, of course, I’m ridiculous, because I’m not going to die. I don’t even have cancer anymore. I’m doing chemotherapy as a precautionary measure. I have it a million times easier than the millions of other folks who are doing chemotherapy but they absolutely have to if they want to live. But panic attacks are not logical. I’m so sorry for the people who panic attacks on a regular basis. They are frightening.

I’m so afraid of some random thing ending my life and taking me away from my boys. I don’t want to be one of the patients that in those awful patient stories you hear like hospital patients who died after eating tainted ice cream.

“Unfortunately, the meatloaf they served in the hospital was tainted, and Sonia, with her low white blood cell count, couldn’t handle it. This is the worst thing to happen to meatloaf since Meatloaf sang with Mitt Romney.”

So anyway, I’m home now. They sent me home with antibotics, and (luckily) I’ve already got some Ativan here, just in case. My oncologist is going to check my white blood cell levels on Thursday, and then we are going to go from there. It’s possible this could delay my next round of chemo. It’s possible he could level the chemo dosage, which would be fine by me.

In other news, I’m shedding like crazy. It’s like Chewbecca lives in this house. Hair is everywhere. I think I’m as mentally prepared as I can be for losing my hair. I’ve bought a few really nice wigs. I think they are super cute. I have no doubt that I will still cry when the time comes to shave it off. It’s going to be hard no matter what. I’m not quite sure what to do next. Do I just wait until it sheds so much that it’s noticeable and then I shave it off? Do I cut my hair even shorter beforehand to prep?

Oh, one more thing, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who is voting for me to be the San Francisco Giants honorary bat girl. I am truly grateful and so overwhelmed by the amount of support. You guys are so goddamn awesome! It really cheered me up when I was in the hospital to see all the shares and everyone offering the support. If you haven’t voted me, please do. I want this. Don’t you want to see me on the field in my orange wig? You know you do. Vote for me!


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Vote for me for Honorary Bat Girl for the San Francisco Giants

Yeah, so, I really want to be an honorary bat girl at the San Francisco Giants’ Mother Day game, and you can help me make it happen.

MLB.com is holding a contest, in which people share their stories about “going to bat against breast cancer.” The winner gets two tickets to the Mother’s Day game, and they get a special shout out on the field. I’m not going to lie, I want this.

I’ve gone to bat against breast cancer twice. The San Francisco Giants have unknowingly really helped me throughout my fights. They give me something else to think about, something else to talk about. They are the very best distraction. I am going to be doing chemo throughout the regular season this year, and I’m glad that I will have baseball to watch while I’m recovering. On top of the whole breast cancer thing, it’s a Mother’s Day game, and we’ve had a big year on the parenthood front as well with Calvin’s autism diagnosis coming just two weeks before my breast cancer diagnosis. As a team, the MansTracys have really had to step up to the plate. I think winning something like this would mean a lot to me, and my family and friends who have helped me along the way.

So anyway, voting goes like this:

You click this link: http://mlb.mlb.com/honorarybatgirl/2015/gallery.jsp

You select the Giants as the team, and then you will see this. “Sonia” – that’s me and Calvin in the photo.

voteAnd then you click VOTE. It’s pretty easy, and you can vote as many times as you want. If you so desire, you can read my little essay by clicking on the photo of me and Calvin. It will open up and look like this:

vote-for-sonia

I’ll post the essay here for you, too.

Breast cancer is a real jerk with bad timing.

I had just met the man who would become my husband when I was first diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer in 2009. He proposed just a few days before my left breast mastectomy. Five years later, even though I was taking Tamoxifen, a cancer-fighting drug, I was diagnosed with stage 3 invasive breast cancer in my right breast. This was just two weeks after our 3-year-old son, Calvin, was diagnosed with autism. I had a mastectomy of my right breast in January.

I started chemotherapy in early March, the same week my son started work with behavioral and speech therapists. My chemotherapy will run through almost all of this year’s baseball season, ending in August. This means I will be rooting for the San Francisco Giants from my chemo level seat, instead of club level seat. And I think it goes without saying that I bought an orange wig for game days.

Going through chemotherapy is a bit like having a bad baseball season; you learn who your true fans are. And I have amazing fans. My friends and family are constantly waving their rally towels for me. I blog about all my experiences at my blog TheSoniaShow.com, so people I don’t really know from all over the country are cheering me on. Whenever I step up to the plate for my next round of chemo, I think of my fans. We have a lot going on in our household, but – just like the San Francisco Giants – we take it all on as a team. Together. And just like the San Francisco Giants, I never stop believing that I can do this; that we can do this.

As a breast cancer survivor and a mother, I would be honored to serve as an honorary bat girl during the Mother’s Day game for the San Francisco Giants.

Thank you in advance for voting. I really, truly appreciate it. Also, go Giants!


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Don’t let the giraffes see you cry

Yeah, so, I’m feeling relatively normal again, which means we are back to doing our normal things such as going to the zoo.

We spend a lot of time at the zoo. And every time we go, Calvin has the animals he wants to see, and I have the animals I want to see (and soft-serve ice cream I want to eat). There are so many exotic animals at the zoo, but Calvin just wants to go the petting zoo and chase the ducks. I, on the other hand, want to see the penguins, because penguins are hilarious. And then I want to see the giraffes. They are so tall, skinny and beautiful. They are the supermodels of the animal kingdom.

I guess the giraffes were feeling brave that day, because they were really close to us. Or maybe they thought I had food for them.

giraffes

They’re looking right at me! They can see into my soul!

giraffes2

I think the one on the right was trying to photobomb.

I’ve never seen a giraffe so close before. I could have reached over the railing and almost pet them. They are really amazing. I was looking at these lovely creatures, and thinking that a week earlier, I was so sick from chemotherapy. I was worried that I was going to spend the next five months of my life puking. But now I feel fine. And then I got all teary, because I’m a ridiculous person.

David: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “I’m just feeling really grateful. And now I’m embarrassed.”
David: “Why are you embarrassed?”
Me: “Because I cried in front of the giraffes. I don’t want them to see me crying.”

OK, enough about me crying for no reason. Let’s talk about some other stuff …

So, I finally broke up with “The Walking Dead.” I have not watched any of the new season and you know what?

missingitbob

I haven’t missed it at all. The show is a super bummer, and super bummers don’t play well with me right now. Plus, I have no idea where the show is going, and it turns out I don’t really care. Every season is the same: [Season starts] The gang meets new people and the new people get killed or the new people are horrible. Also, zombies … sometimes. [Season ends] I have no idea if I will pick it back up, but right now I’m feeling pretty confident I made the right call.

Since I have a new spot open in my TV viewing schedule, I filled with with “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” on Netflix, and it’s the funniest show I’ve seen long time. Do yourself a favor and watch it. So, so funny.

In Spawn related news, his speech therapy is coming along nicely. Communication has definitely improved in our house.

speech

This week is the official start of Calvin’s dedicated specialists working with him in the preschool for about four hours every day. It’s a really exciting time. We just know that all of these services are really going to help him, and he is just going to bloom. He has so much to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it, and it’s finally going to happen. He is such a sweet, smart, funny kid. I’m so proud of him, and I’m so excited for him.


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Don’t mess with the Zofran

Yeah, so, I’m feeling better.

Chemo is totally easy, you guys. You just need to take a ton of drugs until you find out what works to manage the side effects and then you lose your hair. Ta-dah! I kid. Chemo is awful. I’m only a week into it. I suspect the second round will be even worse, and I’ll up all my anti-nausea dosages. In the meantime, thank you, Zofran. This anti-nausea med controls the nausea but doesn’t make me super tired and loopy, so I can function like a regular human. I’m relatively normal. I’m stoked.

dontmesswiththezofran2

My Photoshop skill are not what they used to be.

I was feeling brave yesterday, so I let David take me to lunch … to the Olive Garden. Don’t you judge me. I wanted fettuccine alfredo, soup and breadsticks. And I wanted it plain and boring. No surprises. My friend, and fellow Chico State Wildcat, Jesse has been doing chemo for a year, and he told me that when something sounds good, eat it, because most of the time food will sound terrible. So there. It was the first regular meal I had in about six days, and the fettuccine alfredo was everything I dreamed it would be.

While we were eating in the Olive Garden, I noticed a table of old ladies, and they were drinking red wine and martinis with lunch. I hope when I’m their age I’m going to lunch with my friends on a Wednesday and getting wasted at the Olive Garden. Sounds awesome. Actually, I would prefer Chili’s. Chili’s is my favorite chain restaurant, and if you want to judge me for that, then – well – I’m sorry you’ve never had Awesome Blossom. They are amazing.

 


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Chemo 1, Sonia 0

Yeah, so, I had my first round of chemo on Friday. It started out pretty uneventful.

My nurse Luis sent us up in corner chairs with a lovely view. Luis seems really great, and I hope he is my regular nurse. He called me to followup, and it seems like he really cares, and he offered helpful advice.

niceviewthough

A chemo room with a view.

inthechemochair

Chemo selfie.

So, things started out pretty smoothly. The port is the best thing ever. It doesn’t even really hurt when they stick the needle in. Gone is the struggling to find a vein, and being poked over and over. I kinda wish we were all just born in a port. Oh, how very “Matrix” of me. Anyway, the chemo itself was fine. Luis gave me some anti-nausea drugs beforehand, and during the chemo I didn’t have any adverse reactions. When I left after two hours, I felt pretty OK … until I got home.

When I got home, I felt kinda terrible. I took my anti-nausea med. Too late! What ensued was about 10 hours of nausea and vomiting, and I was unable to keep the anti-nausea meds down to prevent more nausea. It was awful. Imagine the worst hangover, but you don’t feel any relief after throwing up. It’s like that. It sucks.

Eventually, my stomach calmed down, and around midnight I was able to take the meds and get some sleep. Since then, I’ve been taking anti-nausea meds like clockwork. I set an alarm. I’m not fooling around. The anti-nausea meds are working, but they make me loopy and sleepy. It’s difficult to concentrate for any amount of time, so you will have to excuse any typos. But I really wanted to update you guys on my progress.

I don’t go back in for another round until March 27. At that point, I’m taking short-term disability from work, because it’s ridiculous to try to do chemotherapy and work at the same time, especially if you don’t have to. My work as a pretty decent short-term disability plan, and that’s what it is there for, so I’m going to use it. I’ll be off work until mid-August. It would like an summer vacation if it wasn’t for the whole chemo thing. Cancer ruins everything.

So, that’s the latest. Thank you, folks, for all your kind words on the blog, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I truly appreciate it, and they mean a lot.

 


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Pajamafication, Lady Lyft and other great random thoughts

Yeah, so, it’s time for some random thoughts.

Good buddy Kate shared with me a Kickstarter for “urban pajama pants.” WTF?! I’m not linking to it or posting the video, because no. I don’t want anyone reading this blog and then clicking on that shit or even donating. The horror! I refuse to promote it. I thought maybe it was a joke. It isn’t. The idea that someone is trying to make it acceptable to wear pajama pants in public is unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE. Pajama pants are to be worn inside your home, and public spaces are not your home. Public spaces are for everyone, and everyone shouldn’t have to see you in your pajamas.

pajamas

I am not on board with the pajamafication of America. I am so not on board that I had a discussion with myself about whether it was appropriate for me to wear yoga pants to chemo. I decided it is. Going to chemo is like going to yoga … except yoga doesn’t make me sick or make me lose my hair. Still, I think wearing yoga pants to chemo is acceptable.

Speaking of chemo, my first treatment is today. So, including today, I will have been to Kaiser four times this week. That’s a lot of Kaiser. When I was at Kaiser on Monday, I told an employee in the Admitting Department that Kaiser should consider offering a Frequent Patient Card or some sort of FasTrak that speeds up the checking in process. At the airport, you can buy your way into not having to go through the security checkpoint. I’d like to do that at the hospital, too. Or at least slide my Kaiser card to check in, instead of having to wait in line. I mean, waiting in line is so ’90s. Waiting in line is for suckers. We’re better than that, San Francisco.

Here’s my other great idea: a ride service for women. I have been referring to it as Lady Lyft, but I’m sure there is a better name out there that doesn’t infringe on Lyft’s trademark. Maybe Chick Rides or the Women’s Wagon. I don’t know. I can’t think of everything, you guys. Basically, it’s a ride service for women by women – all the drivers are women, and all the riders are women. Whenever I take a cab, an Uber or a Lyft, I always have this little fear that the driver is going to be some creep that I will have to deal with. If you think I’m crazy for thinking that, then you are probably a man. The ladies know what I’m talking about. Wouldn’t you love a ride service in which the driver was always a woman? Wouldn’t you feel safer?

At the very least, maybe Lyft or Uber could allow you to select whether you would like a male or female driver; kinda when you are getting a massage you can choose a male or female masseuse. It’s a great idea, right?

I’m full of great ideas … and bullshit. OK, mainly bullshit.


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Port Authority

Yeah, so, my chemotherapy starts on Friday, so I’m trying my best to get organized. And by “organized” I mean I went to Target and spent almost $300, buying every single drug for every single possible side effect.

My anxiety is showing, right?

On Monday, I got my fancy, new port. I’m sorry if the picture isn’t gruesome enough for you. The incisions are still bandaged. I’ll post another photo with the bandages off next week, I promise. I don’t want to disappointment the weirdos that want to see that sort of thing.

port

I’m thinking about naming the port. Maybe something like Porty McPortenstein? Or perhaps Shecky?

The procedure for installing the port was kinda weird. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess I envisioned it to be something similar to a dentist appointment – like they would numb me up, put in a port and then give me a lecture about flossing.

Turns out it’s more an outpatient surgical procedure that was a little more involved than that. I had to get into the awkward hospital gown and get an IV. They didn’t put me under anesthesia, instead it was “conscious sedation,” meaning I was really doped up, but kinda awake for the procedure. Very trippy. I could hear the doctor and the nurses talking about cycling. Boring. They probably didn’t need to give me drugs. They could have just had me lay down on the table and start talking about cycling, and I would have drifted right off. Other things they could talk about that would knock me out:

  • Crossfit
  • Hunting
  • Any Kardashian
  • Any “Real Housewives” show
  • NASCAR

The next day I had to go to Kaiser to get the port “flushed.” (Eww) When arrived at Kaiser, there was a small fire and the building was evacuated.

evac2

evacuation1

People were calm, but there was a lot of confusion about when we could go back in and when we were allowed to get on the elevators, etc. Eventually, people filed back in, and I was kinda surprised how orderly everyone was. I guess because we’re all sick and injured, we’re too tired to be dicks.

When I finally made it to my appointment, I was ushered into the infusion center, which is where I’ll be doing my chemotherapy. I hadn’t seen the room yet. It was open and sunny with a view of San Francisco. There were several people getting their treatments. The patients and their guests were quietly reading. One man and his daughter were having breakfast while he was receiving his treatment. It went a long way toward easing my anxiety. Everyone seemed so calm and peaceful. It wasn’t a room full of people vomiting, crying and screaming, which isn’t really what I thought it would be, but my mind has a way of working me up into an illogical frenzy.

Other things that are happening, we’re drinking all kinds of fancy beer here. Check out my Untappd for a complete rundown, but my current favorite is the barrel-aged Narwhal Stout from Sierra Nevada Brewing. Amazing.

narwhal

Speaking of beer, we finally watched all three “Maltese Falcon” movies, so check out Old Movies, New Beer for a new podcast soon.


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I put the ‘ass’ in ‘chemo class’

Yeah, so, I had to take an “Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Chemotherapy But Were Afraid To Ask” class at Kaiser.

Basically, it was a class that describes exactly what chemotherapy is, and then it lists of all the side effects and what I can do to deal with those side effects. It wasn’t my favorite way to spend 90 minutes. Also, I already knew a lot of what the class had to say because I’m pretty good at Google.

There were three other people in the class. I’m doing chemotherapy as an insurance policy. I don’t have cancer anymore. This is purely a precautionary measure. The other three people in the class … I don’t’ think that’s their case. They are doing chemo, because they have to. Two of the three were older women and they were in the class alone. I could feel how scared and anxious they were. I felt really terrible for them. It made me reach out for David’s hand, and I didn’t let go through the entire class. The other person was a man and his wife, and he was starting chemo the next day. He asked about medical marijuana. Yeah, dude. Good question. And the answer is, “Oh hell yeah.”

There was a lot of anxiety in the air in the class, so I tried to keep my assy questions to myself. For example, both diarrhea and constipation are side effects. I wanted to ask, “What happens if you get both at the same time? Do you explode?”

I decided it was better to Google that question. Here’s a tip for you: Don’t Google that question.

lost

 

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