Beds

The prompt was to describe all of the beds I've slept in, and so -- 

My childhood bed faced my sister’s, and was positioned underneath a huge wall-hung wooden bookshelf. I worried about earthquakes in that bed, and laughed after my father left the room the night he spanked me through a thick pink woolen blanket with satin trim. When I had a bad chest cold my parents would dose me with neosinephrine drops, which they’d administer by laying me on the bed in their room, draping my head backward over the edge, nostrils to the ceiling. They’d take me back to my room and lift my bed into an angle by propping it onto a typewriter case. I loved the cozy well in the center of the bed that I carved out over the years, roughly circular, then oval as I grew taller.

I visited my sister once at her apartment when I was 4 and she was 18. She shared an apartment with a stewardess, and they lined the walls of their living room with white butcher paper so that they could draw on the walls. Her bed must have been slept in by hundreds of people. At night we needed to perch on the sides of the bed or face rolling into a hole in the center. To this day sleeping in other peoples’ beds creeps me out.

My mom would not let me take my bedding to college with me, but I did get new sheets. When I moved out of the dorm, I saved my money and bought a queen sized futon. Mom said that I was to buy an extra long twin (unspoken: harder to negotiate “the deed” in). I let her know that since I was paying for it, it would be my choice.

I wanted a different bed eventually. My sister had a cast iron bed, a double, that came in 4 pieces that fit like a jigsaw puzzle on the corners. She wrapped it in cardboard and twine and sent it to me via Greyhound bus. I bought my first real mattress, and I slept in that bed for the next 20 years, until we realized that we wanted more real estate and the mattress was kaput. It felt like sleeping on a lightly padded chain link fence, and wires were shredding our pillows. Guess it wasn't high priority!

We had a different, puffy bed for a while, graduating to a queen size.

Then a friend told us about her bed, advertised on our local NPR station. “It’s like sleeping on angel butts,” she said. So we bought one. Horrific. We felt old and our bodies hurt. After several adjustments and many restful nights sleep on our Ikea sofabed, we kept the frame and bought a new mattress at Ikea. It’s still in use.

For various reasons, including keeping cats separated, I sleep on the cast iron bed with one cat and my husband sleeps on the un angel-butted bed with the other two cats.

So ends the story of the beds.

Intriguing Medical Updates (Now With Update)

As readers of mrsguy may recall, I did my endoscopy on Thursday while M&R took mrguy on the long trek to the eye institute and MRI center. Results are not in yet.

But mrguy's are. The most recent vision field test was bad. However his brain MRI revealed some reduction in size of the blood clots. That is heading in the right direction, which is awesome. 

This morning bright and early we got a call from the eye institute inviting us to a consultation with the surgeon tomorrow morning. Our existing appointment was for July 18th, 3 weeks from now, which the head of neurology said two weeks ago that he was not cool with. "In Neurology we move quickly," he said. He indicated that if the next vision field test showed any further deterioration he was going to make things happen -- either eye surgery or the stent.

So we get up at 5am tomorrow because we will be driving in full weekday morning traffic to get to our 8am consultation tomorrow. 

We do not care. 

This is fantastic.

---UPDATE---

The surgeon was great. She wants to move quickly because his peripheral vision is worsening and once it gets closer to the center it progresses swiftly.

Mrguy's chemo is postponed depending on surgery scheduling. 

They're moving him back to the bogus blood thinner until after the surgery, we assume.

He had his labs done yesterday and his cancer marker numbers continue to decrease, which is great.

And the cat is having his abdominal ultrasound today. His lungs were clear last week and they are redoing the pathology just in case.

A Few Good Days

As I mentioned earlier, our friends are visiting from NY and we have been doing a few things while mrguy rests. He's lost weight and I am bummed about that and I have only a few days to get more poundage on him. 

Sad face. Good to have friends here to help shift the focus.

The other day we went on a walk in search of birds. We saw an osprey and a eucalyptus tree festooned with egrets.

There was also a pretty graveyard:

And views galore

And yesterday we went to the big old Asian grocery and looked at many things. I came back with snacks galore, and things to look up (what exactly do you do with jujubes?). We observed but did not purchase an item labeled "Brands Essence of Chicken".

Today we went to the shredding place. Somehow it keeps getting cheaper. $5!! And to get there we had to navigate the side streets filled with encampments. I take my friends to the best places. And then to the tile and stone store where they have a warehouse full of groovy slabs.

After a little lunch we went to the giant warehouse full of weird crap. 

Buried water line!

M was looking for a cool looking metal box to make a guitar pedal out of. Then thought better of it. 

There was also a bunch of weird old gear that had asset tags from the local university and one of the broadcast tv stations.

And when we got home there was a huge package of homemade chocolate chip cookies from the hammer. Much appreciated!

My Endoscopy!

Today it was time for my own endoscopy. I'm wearing my "His Fight is My Fight" t-shirt (available here). And I brought along -- wait for it -- celebrity chef David Chang! More on that later.

It was as I recalled from my colonoscopy. Propofol has a distinctive smell. While they were injecting me, someone said something to the effect of "This is the good stuff," and I managed to quip "That's what Michael Jackson said" right before passing out.

The doctor knows how worried I am about the results. First, I'm hoping that I don't have esophageal cancer. I was crying earlier today because what if I have it and I can't take care of mrguy, but then I realized that whatever it is will be, and we'd figure it out. The doctor reminded me of how the statistics are in my favor (women are less likely to have EC).

On exit he did not say that everything was great. I can't recall much of what he did say, other than we'll have the results of the biopsies early next week, he's going to prescribe stronger drugs, and we'll redo the test in 3 months. There were polyps in my stomach, as I can see in the paperwork he sent me home with. He biopsied some. I read on the internet that these polyps often come about in people who are on various of the drugs for reflux.

That's what I got.

And now back to the David Chang program previously in progress.

Last week a friend was reading the mrsguy updates and reminded me that her family is friends with him. And I felt bad about saying stuff about him. And it made me want to read the book that I'd returned to the free table at work.

So last week as I was headed to get some lunch, my teammates and I noticed that the free table was overflowing. Lots of layoffs means lots of stuff on the free table. 

And there it was. Eat A Peach. The same copy, with two tell-tale dots of ink on the cover, now slightly smeared. And as I needed something to entertain me today while I was suited up for the endoscopy, I brought it with me. Answered questions about it, told people how much I enjoyed his Netflix show, explained that the beef about Momofuku Chili Crunch had been settled. And out of the crenelations of my brain I was reminded of the song: "Me. And. David! David Chang (DavidChangDavidChangDavidChang). We got a thing. Go-in on...."

Cat News

The news is not fun. Our sweet boy, apple of his papa's eye, has lymphoma. 

He's kinda right on time (almost 14 years old). 

He seems to be feeling pretty well, all told, but he's still in the cone of shame because he won't leave his stitches alone. I take him to the oncologist on Friday.

Earlier this week fb served up this photo of my boy from 2017. 

He's so beautiful. 

His papa is sad, and very kind, and is letting him wash himself on his lap while he keeps an eye on him in case he chews his paw.

There Is Hope

As I write, I'm keeping half an ear on the live youtube presentation of our grandniece's college graduation. She attended the same agricultural college that I did, she in Design and I in Medieval Studies. Unlike her Precious Auntie, our niece is a good student.

I made up for it in grad school, but I was such a punk in undergrad and still feel the shame. Eventually I managed a 3.1 gpa, but this was despite lots of dropped classes, incompletes galore...I was too shy to ask professors to read my final term paper, so I just didn't do it and my major advisor had to assemble a team at the last minute. They did not like my paper. It took me another year to clean up the mess and get a diploma.

My recollection of graduation day was the humidity. They had watered the lawn the night before, and that is where people were assembled. The early heat that day turned the lawn into a steamy mess and I thought I would faint. Also, if you see photos of me and my dad, you can see that I have bitten my fingers to the quick.  What a mess I made.

On the way home from the graduation ceremony my parents and I swung by my professor's house to pick up the final paper in question. As I recall I got a C-. And I also recall that the ride back to where I lived was one truly miserable hour. I disappointed my parents. I disappointed myself. I don't recall that we ate a meal together to mark the occasion. They returned me to my apartment, which was an end-of-the-quarter catastrophe.

Over the next year I did eventually finish my degree, studying hard. I recall that I had to resubmit my final paper on Sverri Sigurdsen. And that I had to hire a grad student to help me with the computer. I'd drive the hour to school, let myself into my advisor's office, and work with the grad student to format my paper. First we'd dial up the mainframe, using the modem (calling the phone number and then placing the phone handset into the rubber holes that snugly fit around it). Then we'd call up the file and use nroff (a text editing program) to mark up the paper. When I later learned html, it made perfect sense to me because this was also how nroff worked, requiring that you turn on and then turn off formatting commands with text commands. It got so hot in the summer in that college town, and the portable holding my advisor's office would heat up mightily.

Still, we got it done. Then I had to write papers about Dietrich Bonhoffer for my religion class, and then finally I had five more units to come up with. For that I went to a community college and took American History, and met a musician who introduced me to another musician, and that led me to mrguy years later, and here we are.

Later, when I needed to go to grad school, I had purpose and drive and interest, and it was a whole different ball of wax. My family gladly attended my graduation, and when I finished, I finished. For this reason I say that there is hope.

A Final Note: I guess I should say that my mom was later proud of me (that's after my undergrad years and before the dementia, when she started calling me a fat sexpot!). She liked to tell everyone that I was her baby, and to tell people where I worked. And even though she and my dad didn't approve of my being a musician, she liked telling me every time she heard me on the radio or saw the guy I sang with on tv. And I was lucky enough to be profiled on my community college library program website, and to be invited back most years to talk about my journey from being a lapsed Medievalist / waitress / bass player to working at the forklift factory. When the Nasa astronaut kicked off the commencement address today by talking about the five principles his father shared with him that he lived by, those all resonated with me as the things I have shared when I have given my own commencement address. 

Trippin'

This big boy has a boo boo on his foot. We found him making bloody footprints on the floor a month ago and have been to the doctor many times trying to figure out what it's all about. There's a growth, and he bites it when he gets a chance, even after it's healed up. Argh. Last week our doctor complained about how bad his foot smelled. That was kinda funny. I ministered to him dutifully after that.

We had a recheck on Tuesday, and surgery on Wednesday to remove the growth, and he's been tripping ever since. At one point mrguy asked if we should be giving him some pain meds before we left him alone in the house to go to an appointment. "Not until he stops acting like that," I said. He was rubbing his head on the floor and acting completely loopy.

The day after cat surgery our nephew came to visit, and brought home-baked chocolate chip cookies, mrguy's favorite treat. One of the few cool things about his current situation is that he gets to eat cookies whenever he wants, in order to keep his weight up.

And one of the cool things about being a cat is that you go wherever you want and do whatever you want, even if you're almost 14, on drugs, and wearing a cone. Mid-week, mrguy found the big boy on the kitchen floor writhing around, having stolen a container of cookies from the counter.

Final thing, and this has become a meme this week in our home...

The cat's doctor for this smelly paw situation is from Eastern Europe and has a delicious accent. She's a bit of a tomboy and a bit of a goof. After the surgery the other day, she gave me a call. I wanted to know whether she had a notion of what the growth on the cat's paw was, so I said "Do you have a feeling..." She cut me off.

"NO feelings."

So good. All week mrguy and I turn to each other and say "NO feelings."

And For The Medical Stuff

You really don't need to feel obligated to read this post. I just need to work out my thoughts re: appointments we're having this week and what I think it all might mean.

Reminder: these are our medical concerns:

1. Super kill-y cancer. Currently responding well to treatment. PET scan soon.
2. Optical nerve issue / sight problem called pappiledema
3. Clotting
4. Normal pressure hydrocephalus (backup of cerebrospinal fluid -- csf)

Recently our oncologist took mrguy's case before the Tumor Board. They had lots of questions and asked for lots of lab work. This will come in later.

Lately we've been concerned with Issue 2. We see the neuro-opthalmologist every two weeks. She and the other doctors are working to increase blood flow to and reduce internal pressure in the optic nerves. The situation has improved a bit, and is sort of stable, but still majorly jacked, as we say in the language of learning. All doctors have said "No more Keytruda". A lot of the immunotherapy drugs have neuropathy as a side effect, and the weak spot for mrguy is his optic nerves.

But still -- Issue 1 is really important, right?

Issue 4 is being treated with Diamox and a beta blocker, and they did do a lumbar tap a while back and were sad that it didn't immediately cure the pappiledema but it did reduce the backup of csf at the time. 

And we're trying to keep Issue 3 under control with Eliquis, an anticoagulant.

Issues 2, 3 and 4 are related. Our current theory is that the clotting at the jugular vein started the backup of csf. And then the Keytruda hit his optic nerves when they were already fragile. But if we don't do something to reduce the pressure on his optic nerves, his eyesight could worsen.

Here's where the Tumor Board comes in.

I'm guessing they're wondering why mrguy formed extra blood clots in his brain when he was on Lovenox (his previous anticoagulant). And whether he's predisposed to more clotting. And what's the solution to the backup of csf?

So this is neurology week in the guy home.

Tomorrow we talk with the neurosurgeon. I assume we are discussing whether a shunt or a stent is a possible treatment for the pressure. At our last appointment our neuro-opthalmologist blurted out "I'd do a VP shunt. It's an easy fix unless he has brain cancer because it could get transferred to the rest of his body. But they can also clog." Ohgreat. Well I guess my question is whether the gut cancer could travel up to the brain. That would not be good. In that case, perhaps a stent would be helpful. And we'd need to know what happens if the stent clogs up.

On Wednesday we talk with the head of neurology re: brain stuff. No idea what the meeting is, but I like the way he communicates.

On Thursday mrguy has chemo, and during his infusion he will talk with our regular neurologist. Not sure why?

On Saturday we drive over the bay for his flushing appointment and pump disengagement. 

Oh yeah! The labs. The tumor-ers asked for lots of blood work related to clotting. It all came back negative except for one, which indicates a genetic blip in his makeup regarding clotting. 

To be continued. There was actually a viper venom test that I thought was cool-sounding but he was negative for it.

First Cantaloupe of the Season

The dietician said that mrguy should eat cantaloupe. It has what plants crave, or something.

So I bought a random melon at the supermarket the other day. Looks like cantaloupe but is shaped like a rugby ball. Smells like flowers, or at least it did until I put the package of dover sole on top of it.

Anyway, I was decanting the market bag and the cat came right over and started yelling at me. YELLING. In his best / most awful siamese voice. "Hey, man. I know that you know this but that is cantaloupe and I am a cat."

Right. It means don't leave that thing on the counter or it's in danger. I had totally forgotten that melon makes him lose his tiny mind. In the pantheon of flora, corn is amazing, grass is amazing-er, but cantaloupe is rapturous.

This week I even gave him his nightly CBD on a bed of diced melon because he was being a punk about eating it on canned cat food.

Happy cat. 

And This Is Love

When I read my friend's post on fb, I recognized it as true love. What a goof:

“And up on the main stage, give it up for Emilyyyyyy!”

and other things that I say, in a strip-joint announcer’s voice, when my wife is on the toilet.

There are things that mrguy has done in the past that fill me with that "Omg -- what? You are so messed up -- awwww" feeling. He really understands timing and (maybe) the fact that he's known as a gentleman. When he steps out of that role and says something outrageous it is just extra funny. He is both my favorite wordsmith and my favorite audience. The funniest thing he has ever said, and it is legendary in our home, cannot be repeated here.

This week has been caca. Mrguy's last chemo flattened him like a giant anvil or piano falling from the sky in the Roadrunner cartoons. I think I already mentioned how high his temperature was that first night. And he felt awful the next day, as you do, but then it just continued, his nausea never abating. When he doesn't eat it freaks me out. 

Turns out that some immodium might have helped. Sometimes you forget the simple stuff. 

Days passed with him in bed, making a brief appearance for coffee, but then returning to his nest. Again, unable to eat. Usually during the cycle we can get a Mr. Pickles sandwich or something, but this time the nausea went on and on.

Shoot.

The other day, after the revelation of imodium or perhaps just a matter of time, the sparkle returned. Yesterday there was an announcement that there was appetite. When I told him that I was thinking of making lasagne, then realized that I had two commercial frozen lasagnes in the...freezer, I saw him perk up for real. He really wanted me to make a lasagne. And so that's what I did, people. I made a freakin lasagne. He liked it.

Of course I wasn't exactly thinking about the times in which we live and now I have a giant meat lasagne that would feed a university water polo team and we have mostly vegetarian friends who would not help us eat this giant expression of love.

Here is the big mess I made while cooking:

Here is the beeeeautious lasagne:

And a pretty tidy kitchen afterward:

An Unusual Anniversary

We are sooo not good at celebrating things, and yesterday was no exception.

We took a lovely drive to the eye clinic for mrguy's appointment with the neuro-opthalmalogist. As usual, Dr. K., the Resident, gave us hope ("It's trending downward" is what he always says) and then his boss, Dr. B. said that it's stable. She has a tendency to say many interesting things in between the things she's supposed to say. So we learned that mrguy could get a vp shunt (venous peritoneal), but in cancer patients it could deliver cancer to parts of the body it's not already in. Or it can clog. And that the fenestration of the optical nerve we've been discussing can also close up after a bit.

Can't he just have cancer?

After a visual field test -- fate threw us a bone and the 1:30 appointment canceled -- we drove home.

Mrguy has had a sore throat since his last chemo, so it was a very long and quiet drive in traffic that let me conjure up all of my bonkers thoughts and get agitated and worked up. I was super stressed that he would not eat the lunch I packed, and that he'd forgotten his pills, and that I had a million errands when we got home.

So I dropped off mrguy, and went to the vet to get sweet boy kitty's latest antibiotics (does he have a sarcoma? or something else? he's been wearing the cone for weeks to keep his very efficient teeth off the lump on his arm). On my last trip to the vet I learned that one of our dear younger friends there is also a cancer wife now. She just got married to her boyfriend recently and now he's got Stage IV colon cancer. Argh. Hugs. Welcome.

Then to the supermarket, which is so different now. Couldn't find what I really wanted. Irony = the aisle that used to hold soy products is now an additional beer aisle. 

Then to the pharmacy for my own medications.

Then to our little market for guava juice for mrguy's throat.

Then some sitting and drinking beer. I found the latest David Chang live, where he was cooking for two famous ex-basketball players. I know nothing about basketball but I have a friend who likes basketball and David Chang, so I let him know. He booted it up and watched it while he cleaned the kitchen.

Mrguy pretty much slept from the time we got home, so that was our anniversary.

I love him.

And Now We Wait

I had seen the ingredients at the market the other day, and thought I'd make some umeshu. But the one other time I did it it wasn't so great, so I passed. 

But then I saw the perfect container this week on the free table at work and it was clearly a sign.

Right?

Should be almost ready by the July basho. 

Kenau Simonsdochter Hasselaer

Readers of mrsguy are aware of how much I like an auction. Shopping makes me happy, and by reviewing material at auction you learn about so much weird historical stuff that you wouldn't know about otherwise.

If you're me.

Today I got an email from Dorotheum. It's an auction house in Vienna. We stayed a few blocks from it in 2014, and were able to visit on a day when they had all of the items in an amazing auction of household items (furniture, lighting, hat stands, you name it) all laid out like dozens of rooms in a museum exhibition. And now I'm on their mailing list. I especially enjoy looking at their Old Masters auctions.

Today there was a good and small auction. One painting in particular was super compelling. I love paintings that also contain writing. Anyhoo, here you go:

Witness Kenau Simonsdochter Hasselaer. She was a wood merchant in the Netherlands who became a folk hero for helping defend the city of Haarlem against the Spanish. Hard to tell but the guy represented on the left (wearing a Spanish helmet) may have left his body elsewhere. Like it might just be a head. 

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. If someone hadn't already bid 5000 USD I might have been tempted. For more reading on Kenau, here is the Wikipedia article.