Sunday, November 29, 2009

Two very different scarves

The top one is #23 and I made it for the nice doc who oversaw the ward I was in and took care of the neck mainline wound every day so it wouldn't get infected and kill me. Also he was very nice.

This next one is for an onco-doc who I've been dealing with for a while but who just recently started being nice to me. Not sure why, but I'll go along with it because I need her on my side. She's kind of a conservative dresser, so maybe she'll use this to perk up some. It's number 40. Sorry the pics aren't better quality.

Erratum OR This is what I was talking about II

Fresh from the priest's hole:

Remember I saw a split second of some movie and I thought it was called Attention au grisbi? But then I googled it and it was nowhere to be found? I was in (the) hospital and I think I had a fever so I put it down to that. I'm lucky I remembered my name with all the drugs I was getting pumped in through the neck mainline. Anyway, turns out the movie exists and it's called: Touchez pas au grisbi. Just thought you'd like to know.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

This is what I was talking about

The group in Bolivia I was talking about is the Chipaya people. This is a picture of their houses: http://www.amnh.org/education/resources/rfl/web/bolivia/images/14.jpg

Soon I will post a picture of some cool fingerless gloves/mittens we got at the fair trade store on Nikis which are coincidentally from Bolivia. Also some finger puppets which will go in the monster pinata.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Keeping busy

Here's a sample of what I've been up to. Except this necklace isn't one of the 100-- it's one I made for myself one day when I needed something to wear with a brown T-shirt. So it isn't numbered like the ones I'm giving away.



The pouches are finished necklaces that are ready to go, and the ones on the right are from the Girl Power series, destined for some cool international chiquitas. You can see the numbers near the clasp. Also, each one protects the wearer against the evil eye.

Hot air

Last night I watched most of a docu about Bolivia, one of the series Entre Terre et Ciel (Between Earth and Sky), hosted by Sébastien Lafont, a journalist and hot-air balloonist. By host I mean also the adventurer who goes everywhere in his balloon and documents the people and places. So one of the places where he landed his balloon was the village of an indigenous group (minority minority group, can't find them on the UN page I looked at (!?!?)) whose name I (unfortunately) don't remember (knowing what a fabulous memory, compounded by chemo brain, I have, you're probably surprised). The point is, these people live in what looked like the middle of nowhere, in one-room mud houses. They have to hike incredible distances to get firewood. The staple of their diet is quinoa, and if they haven't had a good harvest (as they hadn't the year before the docu was shot), they have very slim pickings, hopefully supplemented by duck or pink flamingo or something else they hunt in very ingenious ways (watch it to find out). Once a year the village floods, and they have to go away (I wasn't clear on where). The POINT is, they have a very hard life. THE POINT IS, they're cool with that, with working hard to survive, but why do countries like ours, the so-called advanced countries, why do we have to make life even harder for them by screwing up the climate to the point where, during the non-flooding season, they don't have enough water to water their g-d quinoa?!?!?! These people have no negative impact on the environment. At the other extreme, where I live we burn tons and tons of lignite (among other things) to create electricity, at extremely inefficient rates. And people in the countryside think windmills create fertility problems! Newsflash, Mitsos: You're probably infertile because you spray carcinogens on your fields. But don't get me started on the Mitsoses out there...

Today was day 28 post-transplant. No excitement or news connected to that. I have a CT coming up but I'm not saying when because if the news is bad, I want to tell people in my own time. The house arrest was lifted yesterday because whites were above normal. I'm still not supposed to eat fresh, uncooked vegetables or some fruits, or honey from the beekeeper (whatever). My take is that you have to disobey some things in order to feel like you have free will. If you feel trapped, you get more depressed and that makes you sicker. The doctors on Grey's understand this. *spoiler alert* They let a girl with no heart go out in the snow! *end of spoiler alert*

Sickie accomplishments: Have watched more sodes than I will ever admit to. Have made 36 necklaces. Have made one very long scarf for cutie doc. Have begun one strange-looking monster pinata. Have written and illustrated two pages of a story about a small hairy creature.

Soon I will post pictures of my craft projects. This is my intention.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Why oh why

The following from the Priest's Hole, where I am under HOUSE ARREST due to low whites:

I was inspired to post today by my chat with K about people who sit in the cinema and record a movie on their cell phones and then make it available for strangers to illegally download. Who is the loser who wastes the price of a movie ticket so he can sit there and covertly tape the movie, therefore not even enjoying it himself? Mobile technology here has always been more advanced than in the US (I'm not sure if this is still true) but I have never seen video off a cell phone that I could watch for any length of time, much less video of a screen. Dude number two: if you want to see a movie so bad that you're willing to watch it in such crappy quality (hand shaking, edge of screen showing, bad sound, including people chewing popcorn and talking in the background), RENT THE DAMN THING. I just do not understand people. There are many, many people out there who I do not understand.

You will not believe this. I think the universe is conspiring to keep this blog going as long as possible. You know how the main theme of this blog was the open sewer hole on the ground floor of the rat's nest, across from the elevator? And then it got fixed and it was like, what's the point of even blogging any more, there's nothing to say. So the universe arranged for the problem to return!!! Bigger and badder than before!!! Reports from the rat's nest (not first person; I'm under house arrest, remember?) include: dumpster in front of building, torn up garden, mysterious black hoses running in and out of the building and, last but not least, BIG HOLE OF ROTTING, PUTRID, NASTY SEWAGE across from the elevator. You know the hell mouth on Buffy? Where you can cover it up or build a high school on it or whatever but it's still there, festering and at some point The First is going to emerge, the root of all evil? This hole is kinda like that. You can "fix" it, tile over it, whatever, but it will bubble up again!!! Anyway, Dappy and K will represent tonight at the owners' meeting. I can't go owing to aforementioned house arrest situation.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Weigh in

The following from the Priest's Hole:

Haven't updated in days! News: Gollum is back in the Shire, released from the ospedale yesterday in a big rush. They swept in and sanitized the place (couldna done it a few days ago, could ya?) and my presence there was erased forever more.

So todo bi and now I'm at the Priest's Hole recovering further.

Skip the following paragraph if you are grossed out by the NECK MEGA MAINLINE.

So after the NECK MEGA MAINLINE was removed, Cutie Doc showed it to me. That thing was huge!!! Imagine the bottom half of a paintbrush of the size you used to have with your watercolor set, but a little bigger, and tapered like it was, but hollow. THAT was in my vein, almost as far in as my heart! And there's a part of it, about half way down, that has holes, and I could see in, and it looked like it was getting clogged! So I asked bigshot oncologist what would have happened if it had gotten clogged and I still needed it, and he said that if they couldn't unclog it, they would have replaced it! I'm so glad I didn't know that possibility existed and I'm also glad I didn't know how huge that thing was because I would have thought I could feel it moving around in my chest.

I may or may not have mentioned in this blog that I am making 100 craft projects to represent the 100 days that a stem cell transplanted person theoretically needs to be considered out of the woods. I will (in some cases have already done) share these with the people who have supported me throughout this difficult time. I have already made and given out 21 beaded necklaces, and have plans to knit some stuff, sew some stuff and (here's where I need the input) make some pinatas (can't find the 'enye'). So I was sitting there thinking about what animal to make (donkey, rooster, etc), and I thought, so I'm going to make a festive interpretation of an animal, and then encourage people to beat it with a stick until its guts spill out. Also, remember that here people have never heard of a pinata, so I'd have to really spell it out for them. And although the people I have in mind as recipients have kids who would probably love it, I can't quite bring myself to do it. I still like the "pinata as artsy activity" idea, however. I considered making a cuca pinata or geometric shape or monster. hmm.

What do you think? Am I totally overreacting or not?

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Bright, Sunshine Day

[See, why do I remember that? I have so few memories from my childhood and one of them has to be that stupid Brady Bunch song?!?!?!?!]

Against medical advice, we've had the window open a bit today to let in some sun and let out some smell. (Yes, cellmate is still here-- her escape was moved back 2 days at least.) The nice sheet-changing nurses came in all pleasant and sweet and gave us crisp, clean sheets. And everybody else has been in a pretty good mood so I decided to just roll with it and give in to the good vibes. So we've got a clean room, clean beds, lots of good drugs, sunshine and breeze, good music...

Short black hairs everywhere!!! The helmet idea both worked and didn't work. The leukoplast was a good way to get out the loosies but I ran out and don't think I can get my hands on any more. Also, each strip needs to be gone over a couple of times for maximum results, so the helmet, which was one layer of tape, wasn't realistic. Oh, well. Back to the bandana am I. I hope my poor hair'll grow back for the 4th time (!!!).

The white cells are gradually crawling up.

Dalaras annoys the hell out of me. Pachemou?*

*I was tempted to try out a little of my Russian on the cleaning lady today. I was waiting for her to sigh over her work or let out a little word of complaint, at which point I was going to quip, "Rabotat yest rabotat." But she was one of the cheerful ones.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

2nd cancerversary


Sort of. Yesterday was two years since my diagnosis. And since then I haven't been myself, I've been this tired, crotchety old bald lady, with ailments and a pill box who orders orange juice and Perrier water at bars. I can't manage to be the jolly wig wearer who lifts everybody else's spirits, even though I know there's only so much of me that everybody can take.

At least I don't engage strangers in bathroom conversations. I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU, CELLMATE. Dude, good thing I hadn't had breakfast yet when she started in this morning.

Cutie doc and I came up with a plan to handle the falling hair. Make a helmet out of leukoplast (white hospital tape), sticky side down. Remove helmet and turn it inside out. Replace helmet on head. [Unfortunately there's no mavroplast (black tape) which would be a little more attractive.]

ATTENTION AU GRISBI.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Cellmate paroled

I've said about all there is to say about her

PAUSE

On the radio the announcer said "rifiFI" in relation to a jewelery store heist. What?

END PAUSE

so look forward to tales of a new roommate after Wednesday, when my current cellmate will be returned from whence she came and none too soon, although I'm surprised that they're letting her go so soon. She seems to have so many ailments. But I guess their only problem here was getting her transplanted and her whites and platelets back up so they can pack her up and send her to her regular docs up North.

Next to get out is me.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

"Nadir my foot" or "Waiting for the other shoe to drop"

OK sorry I was going to start with something else but I have to say this. My cellmate's husband was just being a condescending asshole to the cleaning lady. Do not go there, man. That woman tries to maintain some standard of cleanliness in a room containing your odoriferous wife. All I need is for you to alienate my best friend in this shithole. In the interest of keeping this entry relatively free of profanity I will change the subject.

So the mustard gas. Apparently it's got a maximum toxicity at about 7-10 days. So here I've been anticipating the nasty delayed side effects, just dreading the weekend because I would be barfing and worse all over the place, fever, shaking, delirium, begging them to just let me die. And NOTHING! I know I'm lucky. I mean, not 100% because my poor little Tin-tin hair has started to get that characteristic tingly feel so Gollum will be back but oh well. Like I said, just tell me it'll be worth it and screw the hair, but you can't do that, can you?

So here's how I am re-orientating (as the Brits would say) my thinking. (And no, I still haven't learned my lesson about the direct relationship between anticipation and disappointment.) As long as I can avoid getting so much as a cold for the next several days, my stem cells will have a chance to graft and start producing whites and that'll be it. Finito. Smooth sailing. A bit optimistic? Perhaps.

God, I love diesi. THE best radio station.

TMI

When you've got Tin-tin (here pronounced tenTEN) hair and two tubes (with your own blood trapped in the hardware) coming out of your neck, you may not do as much mirror gazing as you once did. So it's understandable that I missed the appearance of the sign on my forehead that apparently says: Tell me all about your feces in full and explicit and complete detail.

To my cell mate,
You are vile. For your own sake, start respecting the laws of common discretion because I am about to strangle you. If I wasn't too grossed out to approach you, I might have already done it.
Yours truly.

Ahh... Pantelis on the radio. What a charmer.