Monday, February 22, 2016

Function (noun): ability to --. dressing for a --; mathematical solving of a--;

Eye drops add a flourish of color to brighten any ophthalmology waiting room.

Function (noun): ability to --; dressing for a --; mathematical solving of a--.
Or what cancer people often want to know is, "can I actually still function?"

Function (noun): ability to function:  My stomach-cancer friend was diagnosed and then went in for surgery. They removed his entire stomach. They followed up with chemo but halfway through he said "screw that!", he had gone through enough already, and his cancer was gone anyway, so why deal with chemo?  So they stopped chemo, and he's fine.  Without any stomach at all.  We can take him out for indian buffet and he can eat anything. Except for the last time he was there the buffet was a bit iffy so we've settled for a future in Afghan food.  But you get the point. He functions well at lunch functions (Provided that the food is up-to-snuff).

Function (noun): dressing for a function:  I seem to be surviving well with my post-surgical colon prosthetic (Oh! That's not a Colostomy Bag, is it? Hold on, is that a Holister 8180 with lock-and-roll design and the updated skin barrier? Lovely choice!).
Stretchy leggings, stretchy skirt waists, long tops to cover. . .  But not many jackets do well with those, so winter becomes another wardrobe challenge. (You wondered why your cancer friend didn't take you up on your offer for tickets to the semi-formal winter concert? Probably a functional-clothes issue.)  HUGE shawls are lovely. They double-up as blankies-on-the-go (Thanks, Mom!).
Bladder cancer people might need to have urostomy bags--same kind of thing, same kind of wardrobe challenge. (This blog is nothing if not educational!). These bags are flat and discreet until they're. . . not. In an emergency-restroom way. Best invitation for some of us cancer patients is a place with GREAT restrooms, hopefully individual restrooms (where one can access a sink privately, and have somewhere to hang a purse and shawl and maybe a skirt for a minute while they accomplish personal hygiene feats of Olympiad proportions). 


dressing for a non-functional function: As an adult, I had the chest of most 12-year-olds.
The first biopsy left me with "Is it Breast Cancer or Ovarian Cancer?" I knew that if it was breast cancer, and I had to have one removed, nobody would notice.  It sounds a little flippant, but really, it was true. Bras were never needed for me. Breast-cancer women have a whole life and bras and wardrobe that I've never really understood. I DID nurse 3 children, and put in 7 years of breast feeding. That made it a little more difficult to understand the purpose of other women's big squashy boobs besides the fun factor.
Breast cancer would not have changed my wardrobe one bit. Same with lung cancer, or brain cancer, or many others.  Ovarian cancer took away my ability to wear tight-fitting-butt-enhancing-small-sized-long-and-lean GAP jeans. Damn. Not many women could do those well at 50. I could. Aaargh! 

With me, it was often difficult to distinguish my front from my back.
Function (noun): mathematical solving of a function:  My top-notch cancer team is there for me 100%. But recently I came back in contact with one of my life's best friends. Sometimes, with best friends, you drift in and out of contact. But with lifelong best friends it doesn't really matter because you're always still there for each other and when you get back into contact it's as if you never left.
So my friend is a scientist, and, when it comes to math and science entering my world, my eyes kind of cross over and I get a fuzzy feeling and blur and yawn a lot. So little did I know that his Science Research just happened to address my own type of cancer! Yay! In short, we're on it. (and he's a good enough friend to simplify the science to where I don't start napping while he's talking). I couldn't function without him!  
 New clinical trial options await. . .

Profuse acne is a side effect of the MEK trial. I feel 15 again!















And who can resist Dionne Farris' "Hopeless"?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxDgp1JROs0&list=RDDxDgp1JROs0#t=0

15 comments:

  1. hey sis great blog again, and still amazed at your friend with no stomach! but WTF is going on with the acne? oh by the way I also remember at uni you lived in a pair of leggings with a baggy kimono top - what goes around comes around? xxx

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    1. Thank you but it was a little sleepy (like me!) so I added another photo. Rashes are improving, sleeping more zzzzz

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  2. I always knew that about you. The blur-and-yawn Math Thing, I mean. Notice how I've never pulled out my Math Card on you? (How you managed to get an MBA with your Math Thing is a mystery.) As for the acne: it's a license to free-range on chocolate, oui?

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    1. No you were WONDERFUL at teaching me math. I wish I had you in my teen years!
      The MBA was thanks to reading Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar" early in life. Remember the trick her character used to get out of physics? Well, I found it also works for algebra. For those of you who aren't familiar with that one, it runs along the lines of "I know I need an advanced algebra credit to graduate with a masters, but we all know I'd just get an A anyway so it would really be a waste of time to sit through that silly class, so could you waive it please?" It worked.
      Your motivations for pushing chocolate, while you lose weight and I can't seem to, are highly suspect.

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  3. ....this is starting to scare me Leslie. This simply can't be happening. This is hard for me to deal with. We were nothing but fun, I don't think I've ever had fun like that since you moved. I'm getting insight from this blog and if anybody could make this fun it'll be you.

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    1. It IS scary, isn't it? I promise I'll try to take as much bite out of your fear as I can. I am so, so sorry.

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    2. I'm being reminded how mortal we all are. I always told myself I'd get out of it somehow. I just hate to see you suffer from all of these "treatments". My highly advanced biological organism is starting to ripen and rot. I itch like 90.

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  4. I'm not sure if my comment will work, but I'll have go anyway! A great blog again. You look stunning in your black dress! Glad to hear rash is improving. But hey, I don't remember you being bad at math(s) at school .....?

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  5. I'm winging it too, this is my 4th attempt to respond! Thank you, I'll just need to tell you directly how you and Vermeer are in the same league.

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    1. Oh OK, here goes. Vermeer's blue has always been your color! You always had stuff exactly that color, and I always associated it with you. Bookbags, pencil sharpener, clothes, it just kept being a part of Jenny! Then we had History of Art class (great slideshow, I thought!), so I could finally put a name on your color. Jenny Blue was officially called Vermeer Blue.
      20 years ago the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC did a HUGE Vermeer exhibit, which I attended, and all I could think of was you! Yes, you would have been Vermeer's muse if you had lived back then. But there's another part to it. . .
      In college I read Karl Marx, and also his correspondence, in which he writes of his wife and in describing her he says,
      "ART was not as beautiful as Jenny."
      How true.
      I though you should know.

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    2. Oh thanks Leslie! Just thought I'd check out the spelling of Vermeer via "not dead yet" and find you've written me another reply! Now I need to check out the blue! - I'm thinking a powder blue....I also remember you associated me with purple! Thank you for your kind words. I will email you soon xx

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  6. Replies
    1. N'oubliez-pas ce que c'est passe a Bootsie a Chicago! Une belle vie n'est pas un match contre des eaux profonds des requins! Yoo-hoo! Mr. Lifeguard, oh yooo-hooo!

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