Thanks for birthday number 48. The proximity of 50 is a little scary, but not the scariest thing in the world, as I’ve learned in the last six months.
Thanks to Mikiko for coming along for infusion number 5.
Thanks to the manufacturers of anti-nausea drugs who make it possible for us to enjoy Vietnamese pho noodles from My Father’s Kitchen while they drip icky drugs into my veins.
Thanks to Liz, Fawn and Mikiko, who have brought by dinners in the last few weeks. The further along the chemo gets, the less I feel like cooking. You know it’s serious when I don’t want to cook!
Thanks to Letitia, my mother’s caregiver, who has been doing our dishes when I’m simply too tired. This is not her job; Mom is her job. “It’s just a little thing,” she always says with her Filipina lilt. It is not a little thing. Letitia, you rock.
Thanks to Pete and Erin who have been patient with my substandard execution of the usual family services like laundry, grocery shopping, extracurricular and playdate scheduling, cooking, and miscellaneous housework.
Thanks to my brother Hal, I guess, for mistakenly throwing out THREE-QUARTERS of my pots and gardening stuff. After my initial freak-out, I will admit that this allows me to have a more realistic gardening plan once chemo is over. Our Brooklyn garden was mostly containers. We’ve got dirt, or sand rather, here.
Thanks to the La Niña weather pattern, which is making this a sunny, pleasant January in California. Even when I feel, as my Dad used to say, lower than whale shit, the sun and mild temperatures make it easier to keep up the fight.
Thanks to my dog Kit for not whining too much on the days when we don’t do our hike because I don’t feel well. Thanks to Erin for making it a point to play more with Kit on those days.
Thanks to everyone who emails, calls, comments on Facebook, or on this blog. Isolation is the worst, and you help keep me connected.