117 Hudson

Last Year

2012-02-27T16:33:00.000-05:00

This time last year we were in China.

This time this year they are hanging out together in America's Southland.

Every day they text me a photo of what delicious thing they are ingesting.

Wish I was there.

Just Some Pictures*

2012-02-26T21:22:00.000-05:00

*I stole the title from Chrome.

I'm a little afraid to go back to work tomorrow. I keep relapsing when I go back to work.

Fortunately I don't have to think about that until tomorrow.

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Well, OK, we're almost at the end of the LEAP photo challenge and we aren't quite beating the total for the last one. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

A Combo Platter

2012-02-25T16:21:00.000-05:00

Well, getting an immediate appointment with a specialist wasn't a possibility so we've moved on to another form of alleviating symptoms. I'm on a short course of steroids, prednisone if you're interested in details. I've done 3 days at 30mg. I'll do 3 days at 20mg then the remainder of the 20 pills at 10mg per day. Whereas I sure don't feel cured I am also able to breathe without an enormous amount of strain. I'll take that. I'm still not moving very fast, though. The trick is to convince yourself that you never have any place you have to be at any specific time then you don't move fast enough to anger the lungs. Frequent naps aren't a bad thing, either. I've slept more in the last week than I probably sleep in two weeks put together. I'm also adding supplements. D3, Lysine, echinacea, even something the Russian Cosmonauts used to take, Rhodiola.

Now, I can't prove that the combination of supplements and steroids produces particular results but I woke up from my nap with Go Tell Aunt Rhody stuck in my head. If that's not some kind of horror they ought to warn you about, I don't know what is.

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

The End of the Aristocracy

2012-02-23T12:20:00.000-05:00

Here's the last one. It's all people you've seen before in the series but I couldn't make myself include one picture and leave out the other. Say goodbye to the Abbey, we little people will have to wait until they grace us with their presence again.

Presented without comment.

Puppy!

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

Third Time Is Charming

2012-02-23T06:34:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delay. This cold asthma thing is tenacious and I had a bad breathing day yesterday. The only cure seemed to be sleep. That just means we get to savor the rest of these posts over a little longer time.

This one is small. Still high value, though.

Go on, can you guess? Are you surprised? The makeup folks must work overtime making O'Brien nearly unrecognizable from the delightful Siobhan Finneran.

They can rest when they work on Zoe Boyle and just let her natural luminescence light up Lavinia Swire. Wonder how she used her inner light when she was in Sons of Anarchy?

I'm a fool for the idiot savant characters like Daisy Robinson. Sophie McShera is a master at those subtleties.

The Earl of Grantham never looked so good. Hugh Bonneville probably looks this good all the time, though.

There's one more to come. It's duplicate folks but I couldn't resist. These posts have to last us all the way to next season!

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

Another Round!

2012-02-22T16:00:00.000-05:00

Back again for round 2 of the Hottown Abbey!

It was surprisingly difficult to get a photo of Amy Nuttall that wasn't on the theme of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. I wonder if they took that into account when casting her as Ethel.

I don't think Mrs. Patmore would get so mean and uptight if she were allowed Lesley Nichol's more relaxed 'do and come hither lipstick.

It's that slight squiggle in Thomas Howes' mouth, I think, that makes him irresistibly naive as William.

I know you can hardly tell this is Clare Calbraith but look at that joy. We never get to see Jane have so much joy.

Without her Isobel Crawley corset Penelope Wilton still looks like a formidable opponent.

Mostly when Samantha Bond appears as Lady Rosamund Painswick we just see a hat floating off in the distance. Nice to see the whole woman, eh?

Where is that devil Thomas under Rob James-Collier's scruff and curl?

Michelle Dockery is, I'm sure, breaking hearts far and wide. Lady Mary Crawley wishes she had that going for her.

This photo of Phyllis Logan effortlessly conveys all the kindness that she has to sieve through the uprightness of Mrs. Hughes.

Allen Leech, aka Branson, can drive me anywhere. What about you?

Still more to come!

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

Don't Spoil It!

2012-02-22T12:02:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, let's keep today's posts spoiler-free for the final episode of Season 2 of Downton Abbey. I haven't had a chance to watch. If you have spoilers from previous episodes please give people a warning so they can bail if they need to.

Secondly, a reader who wishes to remain anonymous sent me a link to this article/photo essay on the cast of Downton and how hot they are outside of the Abbey's confines. I had already read it and couldn't agree more. They've gone into production for Season 3 this month but we still have a long wait ahead of us so I thought we could do with a Hot People post. Turns out I got a little overzealous. It might have to be two posts. Or more.

Go big or go home, right? Of course we start with Dame Maggie Smith out of her Lady Violet garb and arched eyebrow.

Not Matthew Crawley anymore, just good old Dan Stevens.

As delicious as Elizabeth McGovern herself as she is when she's being Lady Cora Crawley.

If only Carson showed up for work in the wine cellar like this one day. I'd be grateful if someone could tell me which character this is that Jim Carter is playing.

I know this one of Joanne Froggatt is like Anna Smith jumped in a time machine and got a very slight makeover but she's just so lovely I couldn't resist.

As Lady Edith we don't get enough chances to appreciate Laura Carmichael's gorgeous eyes.

I can't stand Iain Glenn's Sir Richard Carlisle but he's a dish and I eagerly await his return in Game of Thrones.

Maria Doyle Kennedy is all over my TV. The Tudors, Dexter, and now Downton as the conniving Mrs. Bates. Damn her! And she sings, too.

I don't know about her personality but I feel as though Jessica Brown Findlay is allowed physically to resemble her character, Lady Sybil, more than others.

The one we've all be waiting for! (No? Just me?) It was such a treat trolling for photos of rough and tumble Brendan Coyle amid all the shots of him all clean cut to play Bates.

Stay tuned for 10 more a little later!

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and LEAP.

A Little Closer

2012-02-21T21:56:00.000-05:00

I was many hundreds of miles away during the memorial for Chris on Saturday. Thanks to the magic of modern technology, though, I had a decent grasp of how things were going. The great thing about that was that I didn't feel like I missed out entirely. The not so great thing was that I didn't feel as though I was doing enough. Thankfully I recognized that sort of feeling as something Chris would think was silly.

I took myself in hand and decided to do something to honor him on my own while so many others were gathering so far away. On the sidebar of his blog Chris has a word count titled, "The Shitty First Draft." The premise there is that the most important part is writing the story down. You can't get to a gorgeous finished product if you don't write anything down. You have to make peace with the first draft not being perfect, maybe even being shitty, so you get the words on the page.

A few weeks ago I had this insanely perfect idea for a children's book. In a wildly uncharacteristic move I started to write it down the same day. I got a page or two in and folded. It was awful. I was just not getting to the great parts I'd "written" in my head. A few days later I tried again. It was better but it didn't feel very good and at the first hitch in its giddyup I let myself stop. I've written on other things since.

So on Saturday I told myself that I'd spend time during Chris's memorial adding words to my shitty first draft, making peace with the fact that it might be shitty while being grateful that it was making it to the page. And you know what? I finished it!

Thanks to Chris, thanks to everyone who knew him, thanks to his putting himself out there on the internet I have a shitty first draft of a project, the first shitty first draft of something really big that I've had in a long time.

I wish he'd told me what I should call the second draft.

Admitting

2012-02-20T11:01:00.000-05:00

I was wrong. It was Journey who sang Open Arms. If you were following me on Twitter, though, you already knew that my memory for the 80s songbook is just abysmal. Here's a picture of Journey now.

Well, Did You Ever

2012-02-19T22:15:00.000-05:00

Tonight I went to see a gig straight from the devious minds of Mark & Sharon come alive on a stage on Bleecker Street. They got a bunch of folk musicians together to sing the nostalgia trip that is, for us, the 1980s. I sat there for a while and it was fun. Then I felt like I didn't remember anything. After that I remembered things but it seemed that the 80s I loved were not the 80s that everyone else loved. I tried to think of which 80s tunes I loved. What would I sing if I was one of the special guests? My mind, predictably, went blank.

At this point the anvil came out.

A woman whose name I didn't hear turned on the keyboard and busted out some Air Supply. Yup, that's right, she played the stuffing out of some Open Arms. I am not ashamed to say that I got a little weepy.

That's exactly the kind of simple, classic power ballad I'd have sung. Well, if I'd remembered it.

What about you? What's your heart song from the 80s?

(Yeah, that's a current photo of Air Supply. Yeah, it's killing me a little, too.)

Please Pass The Nobbs

2012-02-18T19:08:00.000-05:00

The movie I alluded to below was Albert Nobbs. My thoughts on it are over at Please Pass the Popcorn.

P.S. That's a photo of Janet McTeer. Ain't she somethin'?

Trigger (Not The Horse)

2012-02-18T18:23:00.000-05:00

After much testing and trial and error and medication the conclusion is this: I have temporary asthma induced by the special brand of cold virus I was lucky enough to walk into.

I know, it's just a cold, get over it already!

I'm not over it, though, but I do know how to handle it. Ibuprofen and anti-anxiety meds to alleviate symptoms, vitamins, supplements, and every folk remedy known to man to drain this cold crap out of the deep recesses of my skull.

Got a new piece of information yesterday, though. I went to see a movie and I planned ahead. I steamed the hell out of myself in a shower before I left. I ate something so I could take an ibuprofen just as the movie was starting. Still, I was uncomfortable in the movie and feeling worse as I trekked home and a wheezy mess as I climbed out of the subway. When I got home I just sat still for a bit hoping to return to normal. It wasn't really happening but I had to walk the dog so I got up and started to get that rolling. Suddenly I remembered that I didn't have to wear a bra for that so I could dispense with it.

Almost instantly I felt better in terms of my breathing.

Now, I'm not wearing a skintight sports bra or anything. I don't have that much to strap down. Apparently, though, just that much pressure continuously on just that part of my rib cage was enough to trigger the slight asthmatic response.

So for the foreseeable future just call me Freebird....s.

Inheritence

2012-02-17T21:25:00.000-05:00

Someone, it might have been Improbable Joe, commented, not unkindly, that my blog has become kind of a downer. On the one hand I couldn't agree more. Good lord all the death and destruction this year! On the other hand, to blatantly steal from Buffy, "death is my gift." So I guess the blog will stop being a downer when life fucking bucks up again.

I am mortified to admit that I do not have a photo of Whitey, the small, white poodle. He is the elder statesman of the pack of little dog thugs that Eddie and I often walk with in the early mornings. Or rather, he was. He was the boon companion of my friend, Blanca's, mother. When she passed a few years ago he spent a month mourning that loss and warming up to Blanca. A couple of weeks ago he succumbed to a number of health challenges and I found out yesterday when she returned to the park with her other two dogs, pictured here (Snuggles above and Rusty below).

So many treats for all the pets, please. You know what, for yourself, too, because this is a huge downer.

Godspeed, Whiteson. I hope you're reunited with your grown up now and she's showering you with all your favorite delicacies. It won't be the same out there without you.

Exception(al)

2012-02-16T21:43:00.000-05:00

It seems that, unbeknownst to me, there were some technical difficulties with the FUCK CANCER photo challenge. So, I'm going to make a one time exception (until I do it again) and post the picture we missed here separately.

Libbyleeb's friends are a united front battling a cancer whose army is ferocious. I like to think that cancer quails when it looks in those four fierce eyes.

Final tally for the FUCK CANCER challenge? $45 each to Think Before You Pink and Planned Parenthood. That's not so bad.

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Don't forget the current challenge, LEAP. For each photographer that enters photographs into the LEAP photo challenge by Tuesday February 28 I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

Photo Challenge: FUCK CANCER

2012-02-15T07:39:00.000-05:00

Well, we raised $40 each for Planned Parenthood and Think Before You Pink. We have some new members and I love all of that. So please remember to comment here and on Flickr to show your love for all our participants.

Scroll down to the bottom for announcements of the new challenge and which charity we'll be working for this time.

The thing that's funniest about this is that those bowling balls aren't that much bigger than ChromePlatedGirl's naturally beautiful endowments. (Totally off topic but also, would you not die for her hair? I would, except then I would be dead and couldn't enjoy it.)

I've taken my share of hospital room shots for posterity. You rarely get the sort of camaraderie and easy love I see in ejmmcartin's pic. Tough love, sure, but this somehow retains more of the joy.

Speaking of joy, Our Janet snapped this shot at the Lahey Clinic where they keep a gallery of art by cancer survivors. As you know, Janet is one. I wonder if she'll be contributing anything to the collection.

Since the day I met her I've thought of herm007/Our Bethany (right) as a stunning, strong woman. It seems she keeps only strong and stunning company as well. (I believe the woman in the center is a survivor.)

Not many people would take kindly to an appearance by The Grim Reaper at their pre-death memorial bash. Mrs. Chili's mom absolutely loved it and I love this photo because, though I knew her only a little, this expression seems entirely her.

Go on, try to look into those eyes and not get mesmerized. I bet you can't do it. Debbie in AZ's mom, pictured here, is a 14 year cancer survivor. To that I say, "FUCK YEAH!"

My brilliant, gorgeous, talented, surviving friend, Mimi. I can't wait for her cancer musical to come to life!

While magcc88/Magpie Musing's mother was dying of lung cancer Magpie displayed this gem from Subversive Cross Stitch in her home. Occasionally someone, for fear of offending, would tuck it away in a drawer. Magpie persistently brought it back out because...

FUCK CANCER.

In honor of Our Cindy's husband, Chris, who died on Friday and of the date our challenge will post the next challenge is LEAP. Remember that you can interpret the prompt any way you like so it doesn't have to be about death or cancer or leap year, it can be about anything. If it helps, Chris had a great sense of humor. For every photographer who enters photos in this challenge I will donate $10 to The American Cancer Society.

Please add your photos to our Flickr photo pool by 9am on Tuesday February 28th for posting on Wednesday February 29th. Let me know if you have any questions!

Thanks again for joining in. I love this feature and can't get enough of all your photos.

Three (ish)

2012-02-14T11:11:00.000-05:00

I'm terrible at calculating age on my dogs. I always had to do the math for Emily and I got it wrong all the time. To be fair I also have trouble remembering how old I am and frequently get it wrong by up to 5 years in either direction. I'm 43. I think.

When it came time to pick a birthday for Eddie I went the easy route. I picked February 14 for Emily because it was easy to remember. It basically worked out for Ed, too, so I let him share it. Why give me one more thing to screw up.

Which makes today his 3rd birthday. Sort of.

You can see how thrilled he was to be photographed for the occasion. As a matter of fact everything I've given him today has been met with disdain and heavy sighs. With the dog years calculations you'd think he'd be out of the teen years by now.

Thanks for choosing me, dog. I know it's never easy but I think we can both agree it's worth it.

Imagining

2012-02-13T14:50:00.000-05:00

Still keeping the movie reviewing alive. Over at Please Pass the Popcorn I'm talking about Hugo.

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Only one day left! For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

Sucker

2012-02-12T21:19:00.000-05:00

You know I'm a sucker for dogs, especially my friends' dogs and even more than that the German Shepherds.

This is Tim. He's six, I think.

Think some good thoughts for him, will you?

Then think more good thoughts for his people. They really need it right now.

More information as we have it.

Whatever Normal Means

2012-02-11T19:59:00.000-05:00

I'm taking antibiotics. Feeling better. Not feeling cured.

Chris is still dead.

I finally filled the humidifier.

Life just keeps going on.

The dog in these photos is back at not-fighting strength. He's a healthy weight, he's enjoying some local celebrity ("Is that Bu?"), and he helped chase down a purse snatcher.

I'll get some shots of his recovered self as soon as I'm feeling better, more motivated. Whenever that might be.

In the meantime, have some ice cream for me. With the antibiotics and all I need to cut down on the sugar.

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For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

I See Her

2012-02-10T13:55:00.000-05:00

I took this picture on a Blogher morning in San Diego this summer. It was one of the best moments and feelings of the trip. It was cool but not cold and the fire felt comfortingly warm and I was playing around with my iPad and my camera and Our Cindy was with me and we were set to go on a day we'd been looking forward to for months.

I've come back to this shot in the last few months while she and Chris have been in the process of being fucked by cancer. I see her like this, through this gentle fire that's going to blister and burn her. She'll survive but she'll never look the same. I know it's her over there, just over the painful obstacle, but I can't see all of her. Every time I lean one way to get her in focus, she scoots in the other direction to set up her shot. We can hear each other, we keep talking for all the good it does, but everything is distorted by the flames.

This morning I wrote to tell Cindy that I'd dreamt of her and Chris last night. For some reason they lived in an airport. Chris was asleep on the changing table in the bathroom. I spoke to Cindy briefly and he never woke so we didn't meet. Later, while I was showering, shortly after Cindy got to work, Chris died. There's no better, easier, cleaner way to say it. Cindy made a safe island out of her blue comforter with her laptop and she has emerged on various outlets when there's time, careful not to touch the lava-covered, too-real world of the floor. Our Janet leaves comments and that's what finally helps me cry. In a few short hours (too long) Misti will brave the heat and leap onto the cool blue island with Our Cindy.

All will not be well but together they will be better.

Chris, I'm so sorry never to have met you. Thank you for going on before us to break the path.

Cindy, I love you.

Cancer, Fuck you.

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*For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

Some News

2012-02-09T20:38:00.000-05:00

I haven't kept up with my reader but Gert did request some news so here 'tis.

First, I'm still not too well but I did get my doctor to call me back and agree to see me tomorrow at 11.

Second, but actually first, last and everything in the middle, please throw some support and kindness toward Our Cindy, Elephant Soap. Her husband, Chris, is not well and they can use all the goodness we can send their way.

Neil Gaiman posted a photo that I think is actually some kind of fan torture. He should be prosecuted. His punishment should be coming to my house and reading to me while I fall asleep.

Via Chookooloonks, there's a set of photos from the Great Depression, mainly around 1940, that's just great. What I like is that they're from all over the country. The ones from Maine and Vermont are really interesting to me. They're in color, did I mention that?

I don't remember seeing Bobby Orr play, I was too young, but I remember him, the legend of him. I love this photo of him. Had no idea he was Canadian.

The quote from Debbie Allen in this set is chilling. It's important in regard to roles for Black actresses but I think it's important to think about in relation to any struggle for forward motion. Just when you think you've won is probably the time to keep vigilant.

For my knitters out there, do you know about Knitting Behind Bars? At first it seems a little nuts, giving small concealable weapons to inmates but it seems t o work like a charm. Not hugely surprising to me that finding a positive focus can help improve behavior but hey, I think the more we get that info into the world the better chance it has to catch on.

Then in a combo of two of our previous items we have the head of the NHL coming out in support of any hockey player who might be...well...coming out! I've always liked the NHL best of all the major sports leagues and this only cements my love.

This week the Blogher community said goodbye to two women who had been dealing with breast cancer. This is a great round up of all the tribute posts.

I don't often think of Courtney Love as a sympathetic figure but this is an interesting way to think about what her life has been like.

Let's leave it on a laugh. Newt Gingrich thinks that people who ride the subway are elitists. Clearly no idea who rides the subway here in NYC.

Lasting Forever

2012-02-08T13:45:00.000-05:00

Last Wednesday afternoon I had a little trouble breathing. I was getting enough oxygen but a lot of the breaths just weren't satisfying. I'd force myself to yawn and get a good one, then a decent one, and then back to not great for a while. I chalked it up to an allergy attack, probably brought on my someone on the subway, and waited it out. I told myself, "You're getting enough oxygen, you're fine. Don't worry about it." I couldn't not worry about it but I talked myself into shutting up.

Thursday it started earlier. At bed time I took a Benadryl. It didn't seem to help the breathing but I slept.

By Friday I was talking to people about it a little and still trying to work through it. Someone mentioned that, if it was an allergy attack, it might be allergy-related asthma. Why didn't I get it looked at by a doctor? Well, a couple of reasons. First, I'm a panicker, I have always been told and therefore always tell myself, "It's not a big deal. Just wait it out. You'll be fine." And, other than the whole skin cancerous thing, it was. Secondly, if it's allergy-related asthma that's forever. I don't want anything that's forever. Tell me this will be over. Give me an end date. I'm a theatre person, project work is my life's blood, I can work on anything until the show is over, even if it gets extended. No end date? That's a hideous fate.

Saturday was a bad night. I felt bad in the evening and by the time it was time to go to bed I was having trouble breathing and panicking and not at all sleepy. I tried lying on my back. My side. My other side. I got up. I jogged. I bent over. I did vocal exercises. I finally went into the bathroom and turned the hot shower on full blast, since showers had helped before. I did crosswords to distract myself from whether it was working. I took my temperature, which didn't work at all since the air was getting hotter. When I didn't feel better but was sweating bullets and the ceiling was dripping I stripped off my clothes and got into the shower, letting the water pound on my chest. Finally, about 4 hours from the time I hit the hay, I slept.

In the morning at the park I was talking about it. See, there was no chest rattle, no provable swelling, so it wasn't anything. Right? Well, a couple people had had walking pneumonia and the problem wasn't when you had a rattle, it was when you don't. No rattle means the phlegm had turned to concrete in the lungs and you couldn't move it. Someone else knew about an urgent care center. So I went home, showered up, and checked out a local hospital. The ER had a questionnaire about when you should come to them. The first thing on the Come-To-The-ER check list was "difficulty breathing." So in I went.

Standing at the desk to check in I got a nosebleed. I was triaged right away but she heard nothing and sent me to the big ER with an ice pack for my nose. I waited there for a few hours, crying occasionally, but keeping quiet in my big vinyl recliner that didn't recline because it was jammed against a wall. I read. I checked Facebook. I watched the people around me. A woman near me was on oxygen while she waited and I stared enviously. Was oxygen the key to relief? Great! She seemed not to care about it. If she felt that much better I wanted in!

The doc came and saw me finally and listened to my chest and laid out my options. Didn't seem like it was going to be pneumonia, slim chance of bronchitis and he'd send me to get a chest x-ray to rule both of those out. If they got ruled out then I had a cold virus settled in my upper respiratory system. Well, OK, then what's the plan for relief if I have that kind of cold? Um, well...yeah, so I'm supposed to just live through it. For me? Worst case scenario.

I am no stranger to panic and panic attacks. I've had them roughly since I was 6. I know what they feel like, look like, sound like rushing in my ears. I know them at different levels and I've carefully cultivated ways to deal. One way is to remind myself that panic is not warranted. You can see from all the above that I'd been doing that for about five days at that point. Once panic has set in, though, the cures all revolve around deep breathing.

Deep breathing.

Imagine the cycle here: I have trouble breathing so I panic so I try to breathe deeply which isn't possible so I panic so I try to breathe deeply....

I held out hope for pneumonia.

Went for the chest x-ray, didn't laugh when the tech said, "Take a deep breath and hold it." Went back to my recliner and waited.

No pneumonia. No bronchitis. Here's a prescription for OTC expectorant and extra strength advil. Should take about a week to clear but, in the worst case scenario it could take 2-3 weeks.

I didn't cry on him. Not that I didn't want to but his previous patient had appeared from some curtain area in the back recently, started to cry while Shirley Maclaineing about his panic attack and pain then, when attended to quickly with methods of relief, had the gall to request a different anxiety med just because that's what his kind of people usually take. I explained as quietly and calmly as I could that I felt as though Saturday night was bad because of the panic and the spiral, was there anything to be done about that?

Silly as it seems, I'm kind of proud of myself for that because I've never asked for that kind of help before. He didn't blow me off he offered me a prescription and I took it and filled it ASAP. Not like when I had triple doses of lidocaine for my face surgery and the guy gave me 3 vicodin to go home with then made me return to the office an hour away from my home and answer questions about my addiction before he'd give me more. I went home and took all three kinds of pills and slept right through the Superbowl.

As a Pats fan that was probably a blessing.

I still can't breathe very well. The anti-anxiety med puts me to sleep as its way of dealing with the anxiety. The expectorant helps some. I can't tell if the advil helps or hinders. I'll have some time that's good, usually in the morning and/or when I've just woken up, and I try to maximize that time. Then I go into the spiral of seeking that satisfying breath. I know I'm getting enough oxygen, I know I'm not going to die, but the prospect of never again in my whole life getting regular, satisfying breaths looms large.

I came to work today for a half day to see how it would go. I thought perhaps distraction would be the key to the awake times. Not so much. Maybe if I did something that was more distracting. I sit here panicking and unable to take the panic pill because I don't want to fall asleep on the way home. On Monday night Pony Express said, "I've been thinking about this all day and now I'm going to tell you. Some people live with one lung. They don't even realize it!"

It's making me cry just to think about it.

I don't think she was saying, "Suck it up." I suppose she could because she's right, people live with one lung and chronic pain and childhood abuse and accidental paralysis and congestive heart failure and cancer,* and a ton of other things. I think, though, she was saying, "You're getting plenty of oxygen so you don't have to worry that you'll die." She's right. I'd be dead already if that were the case and the doctors would have done something more for me if it were a danger. I knew before she told me. I'd been repeating it like a mantra when I couldn't do my deep breathing exercises.

Have you ever seen Out of Africa? There's the Masai warrior who works with Redford's character and Redford talks to Streep about how the Masai can't endure imprisonment because they don't see time the way we do. They see the confinement as going on forever and confinement isn't something they can adjust to. My brain, well, most of my brain, knows that I will heal up. It looks like it's going to be closer to 2 weeks than 1 but it'll go away. It's a virus, there's nothing you can do to kill it, you have to wait it out. But my panic centers, my heart, can't see the end to it. What if it's not gone in 2 weeks? What if I do have just the one lung (I don't) and I live like this forever just waiting for the one deep, satisfying breath? How will I deal with that?

I will, I guess, but I'm going to cry a lot more, that's for sure. 'Cause crying helps breathing trouble. Right, sure it does.

The one thing it has committed me to is boosting my immune system. So, if you've got a favorite supplement or food or technique (anti-bacterial hand stuff need not apply, I'm in the camp that fears they're killing all the good bacteria and making us vulnerable to all the worst bacteria) that you're willing to share, please put it in the comments section. I'm looking to have the biggest, baddest immune system you ever did see. If it doesn't matter now, it will come the Zombie Apocalypse.

**********

*For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

Rena M. Allen 3/7/1914 - 2/3/2012

2012-02-04T10:43:00.000-05:00

Great Aunt. Great Entertainer. Reluctant Dog Lover.

Safe travels Aunt Rena.

Some Promises Are Hard To Keep

2012-02-03T20:21:00.001-05:00

All the photos in this post are by Janet aka fondofsnape.

You may remember that last year some people died. Not the got sick or old and people told you not to waste your time with them and then they passed away and we all had a party in their honor. Instead it was the kind where you're minding your own business running errands or working on your singing voice and your phone makes a funny noise and suddenly your world just got a little bit smaller. Somewhere in the middle of all that I got mad, which is fine because it's one of the stages of grief, you can look it up. I posted here in a tone both huffy and pitiful that everyone I know had to promise not to freaking die that year. Sadly I have no idea when I did that so I haven't linked to it.

People were very nice of course and said comforting things and it was lovely and it made me feel hopeful. Then Janet chimed in and said, basically and in the nicest way, "I'll do the best I can." At which point I cried.

You see, Janet and I met because she was in danger of dying. Back when the Women's Colony was alive and well Mrs. G announced one day that her friend Janet would be writing a series about her fight with cancer. I somehow missed the first post about her diagnosis but got caught up in the rest of the weekly tales of chemo and radiation and techs named Hiney.

The Colony dissolved and I kept up with the photo challenges and somewhere in there I realized that the Flickr handle, fondofsnape, was Janet. Same woman who told us about radiation burns on the butt was the photographer who worked a Jack Sparrow figurine into a number of crazy photo prompts. She was the almost always first to enter a shot and she's a dog lover with two dogs of her own, and she was commenting on my blog, too. At this point the conversations became a little more two sided because I finally knew who the hell I was talking to. Sometimes I am way too confused by the internet. I'll get there but you have to give me a while.

The other thing is, Janet is a good New England girl. So am I. I find I'm drawn to those women a lot. The men, too, but it rarely works out as well. So we recognize a lot of the places the other one photographs, too, and it feels like we've sat down and had tea. We haven't. Not for lack of trying but it hasn't worked out. Yet.

In all those conversations, though, the cancer journey has fallen by the wayside. Certainly at the point at which I demanded an unreasonable promise from everyone I knew we hadn't talked about it in a while. It's cancer, though, so it's always there, even when I try to pretend it isn't. I replied to her comment and thanked her for her effort and tried to make light of it but I thought about it a lot.

Then it snowed on Halloween and Queen Bee came for Thanksgiving and I forgot all about it.

Early this year it all came back to me and I thought, "I need to thank Janet." Then I thought, "That's weird. Isn't it weird? What's she going to think about that?" You know what I did then? Radical move. I asked her. She was fine with it. We had a nice talk and she sent me links to the original Women's Colony posts that she's now republished on her own blog and I read them and I cried. It was all good until the post about the therapy dog.

So, before I link you up to those fabulous posts, a few things. Thank you, Janet, for contributing your fabulous photos regularly and generously to the photo challenges. Thank you for sticking with my blog. Thank you for forgiving me for not finding your blog until last week (still so sorry about being that stupid). Thank you for sharing your cancer journey story and being so candid about something a lot of us wouldn't know anything about, even if we had known people with cancer. Thank most of all, though, for living. I promise I didn't realize at the time what a tall order it was but I do know that, as things have gotten scary at the beginning of 2012, I have appreciated you taking me seriously even more than I thought I would.

Thank you.

*****

Quick explanation before I get to the links. When the Colony went down it was a quick process to grab our work off the site. I know that I basically copied and pasted the text and I think that's what Janet did, too. So, you may notice places where she refers to links or photos and those haven't made the transition. Just keep reading, it'll still make sense.

This is about the initial diagnosis. I like that she refers to it as "the day that Farrah Fawcett died" because Farrah got shafted that day, too.
In the first update we find out about the chemo bag.
In the second update we find out that True Blood has healing properties.
The third update is about crying but it's not the one that made me cry. Your mileage may vary.
Johnny Depp makes an appearance in the fourth update.
There is percoset and burning pee in the fifth update. Also, a vaginal dilator and the therapy dog that made me cry.
The sixth update teaches us about post-colostomy bodies and side effects that force you to wear oven mitts to take things out of the freezer.
In this bonus story, we hear about "Brown Friday." That guy she mentions? That's her boyfriend. No, she didn't have a boyfriend before she was diagnosed but she did by the time treatment was finished. Role model.

*****

For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).

Preview

2012-02-02T15:10:00.000-05:00

Today in this space you're supposed to be reading a heartfelt ode to Our Janet. (That's what I'm going to be calling her from now on, not Janet, not fondofsnape, only Our Janet as though she were a slightly fragile yet beloved 12-year-old circa 1947.) (She's not.) (No, I don't know why I'm doing it but as of today she's ours and I'm claiming her!) The thing is I got her to send me some links yesterday to some posts I wanted to include and, being the super de dooper researchy type that I am (heh) I read them all. Didn't cry until the second to last one but once I got started...

In the meantime I stewed and boiled over the fact that The Komen Foundation has yanked it's funding from Planned Parenthood in a move I'm sure is designed to bolster their anti-choice cred. Lisa Stone, one of the luminous founders of Blogher, blog-checked me in a post about that and I have managed to go waist-deep into the surprisingly hostile comments section conversation that sparked. To my credit I have continued to wear my big girl panties and say things super politely but my tongue is shredded from all the unsexy biting it's been getting.

I can't write about Our Janet (all ur Janets iz belong to us!) today. I can't say what I want to say...yet. I'm going to say it tomorrow. I'll be home waiting for the water to be turned back on, cleaning, and worrying over the piano lesson I'm teaching in the evening. (Yeah, you're right, there's a story there.) I'll take breaks and I'll write and the things I want to say will become blogging reality.

For today go read the article about dog poop where I was name dropped by Sars and gaze upon this audition photo my dog will be sending to the Powers That Be at Mad Men. Good thing, too, those marrow bones don't come cheap. That dude needs a freaking job!

*For each photographer that enters photographs into the FUCK CANCER photo challenge by Tuesday February 14 I will donate $5 to Planned Parenthood and $5 to Think Before You Pink/Breast Cancer Action. Simply upload your photo to Flickr (you can get a free account if you need one), join our Photo Group, add your shot and your donation has been made! If you want a gold star please tag the photo with PhotoChallenge and FUCKCANCER (or CANCER if you're not thrilled about the language).