Contemplating Karma Part II

You guys probably got that I had a rough weekend emotionally. So it was with great relief that I had an acupuncture appointment for 9 am yesterday. Dr. Sunny Lee was running behind and so I sat and tried to drink my breakfast smoothie and just tried to calm down and breathe.

When it was my turn, I walked into Sunny's office and sat down. I told him that I was doing okay physically, that the worst of the side-effects were subsiding from the last dose but that I was doing terribly emotionally.

He wanted to hear more and so the way I summed it up was that while I do have lots of people who have my back--who are available and supportive and perhaps, most importantly, expansive of me generally and specifically right now --there are others, some of whom theoretically, would be more inclined than many of the people who have shown me the most kindness--who in my perception--have my throat.

They are clutching my neck with both hands and seemingly wanting me to (a) die or (b) shut up or (c) not direct what they usually describe to be my great insights and wisdom, towards them. I told Sunny that I am trying to be a kindler, gentler version of me but that it just doesn't feel safe to put down my armour because I keep getting sucker punched. I told Sunny that things were so bad that I had even lost my sense of humour.

Sunny listened to what I had to say and said "You cannot allow yourself to be distracted. It's like you are halfway up to the top of the Himalayan Mountains and suddenly a flock of birds surround you and started to squwack and pick at you...would you take both hands off to swat at them, or your feet to kick at them?" "Well," I said, "one person I made a boundary to and said that it was not okay and to leave me be." "That's good too," he concurred, "but just keep your attention focused on your goal. Never mind the distractions."

With that, we went into one of the patient rooms and Sunny gave me many, many needles to treat my peripheral neuropathy, my lungs and breathing, my liver and kidneys and several for qi-raising and emotion-soothing. Sunny left and turned out the lights so that I could just rest. Every 10-15 minutes he would come in to check and spin the needles. "Feeling better," he would ask each time. "No," was my reply each time. After about the fourth check in, he added some more needles...I asked for them in my jaw as that is where I am getting a lot of nerve pain and as I noted to Sunny "isn't that where one holds anger?" Sunny checked in with me about the time and I said that I had to be gone by 11 am, so he gave me a really long treatment including my back and also inserted three metal acupressure points around my right ear for some take-out acupuncture.

I whimpered when he put in the first and asked "What was that point?!" "Oh, that's for calming," he replied. I burst out laughing noting that I obviously needed help with that. I went to pay, nervously pressuring the receptionist when she realized that she had made an error, had to check something with Sunny and then come back and re-write the receipt.

I walked about of the building and around to the parking lot where I saw a parking ticket on my dash. I picked it up with confusion given that I knew that I was just over my time limit. I spied the ticket writer and walked over to him. Just to give you a bit of a picture...he was dressed in faded jeans and a checked flannel shirt over an old white/grey one over a good-sized beer gut. He looked like a good-ol'-boy, the kind of man who kills small, furry animals for sport. I walked up, and looked into his one seemingly-working eye and the other seemingly-not-working one.

I asked him what the time was: 11:11 am he said looking at his watch. "Isn't there a grace period?" I asked. "Yes, five minutes." Still very calmly...I guess those little acupressure points really work...I pointed out that my ticket expired at 11:00 and that he had written the ticket at 11:05. "I can't just stand by your car and wait to see if you're going to come or not," he said. "I realize that but given that I did come right away, that I was just out by a couple of minutes, couldn't you...."

Well, suddenly I was cross. My right hand shot up to my head and I ripped off my wig. I stood right in front of him--smack-dab in the middle of a very grey, filthy, downtown parking lot, feet on the ground, eyes locked on eye--I said "I was just trying to talk to you like a human being. I have just seen a doctor. I am going through chemo. I was just trying to talk to another human being. Are you a human being?"

He walked away muttering "That ain't right." and I went to my car, sat in the driver's seat and started to sob. I sat there trying to collect myself so that I could drive and suddenly the guy was back and he put out his hand and said "I'm going to take care of this for you. You did a really shitty thing...but I'm going to take care of this for you. I handed him the ticket trying to look appropriately chastened and he walked away. I pulled forward out of his sight and I replayed what just happened in my head and I started to laugh and laugh and laugh.

So...I got my sense of humour back. Thanks, parking lot ticket guy! Oh, and if I did just create some new karma with the entire male gender later this lifetime or in the next? It was worth it. Really it was.

And a final word in the delicious-irony category...I just re-watched the mockumentary "The Delicate Art of Parking" on Saturday night which is all about people's rage at parking-ticket writers.

Contemplating Karma

I must have done something very, very, bad to the entire male gender in my previous life/lives.

Seriously rotten. Awful.

Perhaps I am being given the opportunity to pay off a lot of both-gender relationship debt in this lifetime?...if I can just keep my mouth shut and keep moving towards intimacy with people for whom I am not too scary or too harsh. People who "get" me and actually enjoy my company and the rest I need to let/be allowed to let fall away and keep moving.

What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
What doesn't kill me makes me stronger


Sucker Punch*

Sucka sucka sucka
nursing on the teet of
trust and love and thinkin’ it was
safe to put down yo’ armour.


well b*tch, I got news for you--

you’re still a sucka sucka sucka
and I’m one mean mother f*cker,
so don’t go tryin’ to figure yo’ way out

cus’ I got you comin’ and goin’
and my favourite…the sideways punch
‘cus you are and always will be a
sucka sucka sucka.

*any individual who has unresolved guilt over interactions with me, Carly Simon has something to say to you: "...You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you. You're so vain, Ill bet you think this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you?..."

She also has something else to say:

"Most songs are a composite....most songs are.
CR: Was this one?
Carly: I don't know."

(from http://www.carlysimon.com/vain/vain.html)

And what I have to say is that this is an adult gender composite.

Photo Source: www.Flickr.com; Alive Film

Never A Dull Moment

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that frightens us.

We ask ourselves 'who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?'

Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

~Marianne Williamson, from "Return to Love*."

For more cool images and facts about the solar system, go to: http://www.solarspace.co.uk/Solarsystem.php

*This quote is often mistakenly attributed to Nelson Mandela.

The Sacred Art of Dying

I reminded Charlotte and Zach yesterday that that afternoon I would be participating in the first day of The Sacred Art of Dying workshop that Callanish was holding.

Zach flashed Charlotte a quick sideways glance and said "Is there something that you're not telling us?" I said "No. You know me, I have forthright Tourette's. If there's anything new to tell, you will know." They both had a puzzled look and I told them that it is reassuring and calming to deal with one's demise (be it imminent or not), that it helps to live life fully. They didn't seem convinced and I don't expect them to be. They just turned 12 and 14. But somewhere that data is tucked away in their grey matter and it will serve them well.

I then told them a very sad and true story about a businessman who died at work, in a washroom, from a heart attack. No chance for good-byes. No chance to "put one's affairs in order." I told the kids that I would way rather die from metastatic cancer than die unexpectedly like that.

I used to think that being in my mid-40's meant that I was middle-aged. My beloved grandmother, Evi, died when she was 91, and so I just assumed I would live to my 90's as well. When I thought I had half my life left to live I was--in retrospect--very casual about how I spent my time.

But what if today really was my last day of life? Did I notice the birds singing as I awoke. Did I take the time to look at all the green shoots and spring bulbs in the garden or just rush past to hop in the car and get to work/appointment/kids dropped off. What messes did I create in my rush to start my day. Did I hug my loved ones or holler at them? Is my will up-to-date? Did I leave love letters to intimates that I had written so many times in my head?

What if I die today? And what if I don't? Will I be startled enough by the notion that I may not have as long as I had assumed/planned/wanted/depended on to actually be inspired to consider what The Sacred Art of Living might mean for me?

Meditation In Action...

in more of an urban rather than suburban environment and--other than the teen/tween rec room in the basement--not a hip-hop setting.

What on earth am I on about? Just inspired by one of my laughter-therapy cable guys...kind of an in-joke for my political satirist followers/lurkers...add a comment if you're one of them.

Okay...so "Meditation in Action" is what people who are Buddhist practitioners and others who have a meditation practice--ie park your butt for a period of time each day on a cushion and observe how crazy the mind is--try to do for the other 23.13 hours of the day.

The goal is to be mindful, to observe and to act but not react. That kind of thing. Serious practitioners even welcome the inevitable irritations, annoyances and full-on psychic warfare from frenemies and worse, as an "opportunity" to be mindful.

Well as a semi-recluse, I don't have too, too much problem in the negative people interactions... though the first time that I went to a grocery store in three months (thanks to my wonderful, albeit pseudo-pa, Tom) did cause me to have a bit of a tulip turbulence...but back to my point...

There is a six-out-of-seven-day irritation that I am trying not to allow bother me...it is the mega reno that is going on across the street from the upper office. Somehow, no matter what time I nap, there are loud construction sounds...double dissonant hammers would be the minimum. I do what I can. I close the window. I stuff silicone earplugs way, way deep into the recesses of each eardrum and I try not to notice the racket or let it bug me.

On Wednesday though, the sound was so loud including back-up beeping and it went on and on and on and on that, I just had to look and see what could possibly make that much noise! It was a humungous flat-bed eighteen wheeler backing up to a huge, filled dumpster, that has all the reno landfill refuse in addition to a front-loader in the front yard digging up the entire front yard!

I took the photo later that afternoon when I was out with Sadie and you'll note that there is now a different big truck at play. Detail-oriented folks will have noticed the yellow of the sleep-robbing dirt-digger just behind the mega-truck.

I guess that with this writing practice, bothersome details=blog topic, so I shouldn't be cross. I sure am tired though.

Lance Armstrong Got It Wrong...

It Is About the Bike.

The gorgeous sunny Spring weather yesterday got me thinking about my bike and wondering how I would fare up the hills from Spanish Banks or Alma St. up to my place.

I've written about how being able to ride up those hills and ones up at Whistler after having a "window" put in my pericardium (the usually enclosed sac that surrounds the heart) last summer, was the sign that I was going to be okay. Right after the surgery I had symptoms that an elderly person with advanced heart disease would have. I would be out of breath just from a brief conversation on the phone, my heart pounded when I climbed up stairs, I literally almost passed out from running across the street to catch a bus...I was so breathless that a young woman on the bus offered me a sip from her water bottle...so kind but way too cooties for me to accept especially as I had my own, buried in my backpack.

Okay, where was I?

You guys are getting to imagine what it's like to have chemo brain just by trying to follow along with my train of thought. Imagine this 24/7. See another digression and then I have to try to get back to the original point...which one can never really be sure of at the best of times with a Zoë. Since I'm so off track I'm going to throw in another observation, which is that it is super interesting when I ask people what I was talking about...some people always know...they are actually listening to my ramblings, whereas others generally don't have any more of a clue than I do.

So, why do I say that Lance got it wrong? That it is about the bike? Because if I can pull off getting up those hills despite this chemo combat, it means that while I may have lung mets, they don't have me! It would mean that I am not being defined by the cancer. It would mean that I am living with cancer not dying from cancer.

And that, my friends, is an unquantifiably vast distinction.

Imagine Going with Alice Down the Rabbit Hole...

and going straight when you should have
taken the fork in the road and ending up in a Star Trek episode...

Well, that is where I have been hanging out for the last few days.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?""That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat."I don’t much care where--" said Alice."Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat."--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation."Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 6)

Maybe I really am traveling through a different dimension when I start to look to Alice in Wonderland for meaning. This notion of needing to know where you are going is something that I have heard Lalitha speak about many times over the years that we have worked together. She has said things like "If you don't have any idea of where you were going, there are plenty of other entities that do." The premise is that I will most certainly end up somewhere but unless I am very conscious and precise in my direction it is easy to get swept along and end up living someone else's agenda and not living the life that I had intended or had been intended for me.

I am feeling quite disembodied, a sensation that I have been feeling for days. When I saw my TCM on Monday morning, I asked him, after he had put in the first set of needles, if I was dying or if I was just practicing dying. I asked that because I have been having a very distinct feeling of being outside my body, watching myself. It is kind of cool and kind of creepy. Sunny laughed and said that I need to be eating more food to bring the Qi into the body. When I asked my physio yesterday, she said that I need to pay attention to how I'm holding my head and where she indicated was sore and was made sore by doing my Carrie Bradshaw imitation of writing whilst sitting on my bed.

The key Star Wars symptom is peripheral neuropathy (pn) which involves odd nerve sensations: numbness and tingling in the hands and feets, popping (remember those things that were around when we were in high school and they exploded in our mouths? I just googled it: Pop Rocks. As an aside to my aside, I keep telling the kids how amazing it is to be able get the answer to any question that you want to know just be having Internet access.

Okay so that Pop Rock sensation is what I feel in different spots throughout my body: in the inner joint of my elbows, in my neck, down my spine, esp. the lower back, down the thighs etc. The popping and pinging when it gets going is doing a non-melodic symphony of pings, pricks, tinglings with a numbing bass beat. Hard to sleep with and it would be very hard to live with.

All that on top of exhaustion and break-through nausea, hot flashes (or were they blood sugar crashes?) makes for a very disorienting time. I spend as much time as I can in my uppper office. I now have a bird feeder (squirrel and rat and swallow proof supposedly) that hangs right in front of one of my windows on my bedroom front porch overlooking the North Shore mountains, ocean, Stanley Park, Downtown etc. The first brave black-capped chickadee came for a sunflower seed just before dusk yesterday. I plan to spend as much time resting in the next few days until all these symptoms subside. The kids are doing great. Tom and Laura are as usual being fantastically supportive as are many other people and we are all doing well. I am getting to rest and conserve my energy to tell my body that I want to live despite allowing chemotoxic chemical to be inserted through my veins that give my body a very different message.

I really am fine and there really are a lot of weird things going on with my body as it responds to the chemotherapy drugs. The fact that I really try to pay attention to what's going on with my body and my mind (ie a self-observation practice) means that I really notice even very subtle changes and sensations--which basically makes me sound like a nutter hypocondriac who can milk a well-intentioned "How are you?" or "What's new?" into a full-on entire lunch-hour monologue.

I'm going to track down a copy of Alice in Wonderland, if it's no longer sitting on our shelf downstairs and study it for clues. "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it."(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 9)

Adventures in Chemoland: Episode #3

Chemo #3: 3/20/09--Herceptin, Taxol (reduced by 25%) and Carboplatin

Who's that complete nutbar in this photo? Why me of course. What on earth am I wearing on my hands? Oh, those are "ice gloves" which are used usually for people receiving Taxotere, a cousin to Taxol, to try to prevent the chemo victims' fingernails from falling off. As an aside, is it any wonder why some people say for the Big "C"--that the treatment is/is sometimes/is often worse than the disease?!

Now just in case anyone didn't memorize my post on Thursday, March 19, I will recap that I got my oncologist's agreement to try the ice gloves to try to minimize the peripheral neuropathy (tingling and numbness primarily in the feet and hands...very, very bad for a jewellery designer) that I began to have after the second dose of chemo. This is part of the reason that I am now receiving a lesser amount of the Taxol. The other main reason is that I am now a lesser person from a weight standpoint.

Overall it was pretty uneventful. I had all my kitchen-sink comforts with me: the last remnants of my breakfast smoothie, green tea, water, newspapers, study material for a course I'm doing, IPOD and organic ginger spelt cookies in case of hunger or nausea. I had a super interesting conversation with the adult daughter of someone receiving chemo. We were talking about the expense of doing complementary treatments, including how much naturopaths charge, plus supplements plus plus plus.

I can't remember exactly how we segued into the fact that she can really support her mom despite being on Vancouver Island because of the fact that she was a consultant and most of her work was done via the computer. I asked her what she did and she said that she was an accountant and that she worked for a few very large companies (I think in the States) and she prepared legal documents to sue businesses are late in paying clients' bills. I said that that sounded like she had a good job for our current economic times and she agreed. Then I asked her if she was seeing she had seen signs of the economic crisis coming from her clients having higher accounts receivables. She said "Yes." So then I asked her if she is seeing any early signs of recovery, and she said "No."
All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day down in the Underworld. There are a couple of things that I have mentioned in a letter to some people at the BCCA, but that will have to wait for another day. Actually.....I think that I'll just report that to my followers.






I felt so good in fact that I decided to bask a bit in the unforecast sunshine and take the bus home.


When I got home I quickly heated up my defrosted Kelly Zucchini Soup and zipped up to the upper office and this is the eye candy that awaited me...

While You're All Patiently Waiting...

for the 3rd episode of Chemogrrl's Adventure to the Underworld, check this out:

The Universal Gospel Choir featuring Sheri Ulrich

Saturday, April 18, 2009 8pm

All proceeds go to Callanish Society...for more info, go to http://www.callanish.org

Tickets on sale now at the Stanley Theatre's Box Office, 604-687-1644 or at vancouvertix.com.

My Spring Break...ish

Friday was chemo day, dose #3 of 6. It's been written in my Moleskin now for three weeks and I have now commitments for the next day--even someone else is going to pick up Zack tonight at the meeting point as I am on pretty strong anti-nausea meds right now. I feel like I started to be prescient and have a crystal chemo ball....Friday, March 20...11am...Zoe will be hit by a freight train...she will have no broken bones but she will feel like shite for about 10 days. She will recover with the help of her awesome team: oncologist Dr. Karen Gelmon, TCM Dr. Sunny Lee, physio extraordinaire Judy Russell,and of course, my mentor Lalitha. She will somehow mangage to remain healthy enough to stay with the every three week protocol and to matter what happens she will be done by July.

It is also my "Spring Break" as the kids are out of school and out of town. Instead of feeling sorry for myself about not being able to go somewhere sunny myself, I decided to surround myself with good company and fit in some fun with a smidji of work as well as doing the limbo, choreographed as per my Cancer Agency dance card.

So let's get to the highlights:

Lunch with a Buddy and Marketing "Research"
Monday involved lunch with an old friend, downtown. We caught up on our family lives and then, as marketers do, we started to brainstorm all sorts of ideas about our respective projects. Very fun. Then I went off to do some "research" at Tiffany, H&M, and Holt Renfrew to see what my clients might be looking at and/or buying. I'm going to be having a huge jewellery party at the fabulous Glenda's Wallace's--hostess extraordinaire--on June 18th and the creative juices are flowing.

Quick side note. When I was in Holt Renfrew--my second time as I found the sales people to be so absurdly snobby the first time and everything's so way overpriced--I was looking at a hot Quash pink shawl in the mirror, thinking this is just a piece of unhemmed fabric, how can it cost $95? Maybe once Charlotte gets her fashion design business going we can get this kind of fabric wholesale and she can sell it to her Mama for just a wee mark-up? A salesperson approached me and commented on the tights I was wearing...black and cream horizontal stripes to complete my black cotton mini-tutuesque dress and my knee-high lace-up black Docs. "Oh so nice," she said. I thanked her. "Look so nice on you, you so skinny. I couldn't wear them." I agreed that I wouldn't have normally worn such a thing but that I had recently lost a lot of weight. "How you do it?!" she asked, clearly hoping for the secret to my success. "Chemo.," I replied, noting that that's an effective way to cease a conversation. Monday night ended with an impromptu dinner at Pair Bistro with Kelly who is here with her kids for the week. We started with a Wild Mushroom Truffle Latté that was served in the teeniest of expresso cups with wee spoon. Sooooo good.

Acupuncture, Writing, Jewellery-designing (the latter was mostly in my mind).
Tuesday was acupuncture and following that, there had been a planned belated birthday party of two for Lalitha, who just turned 60 last week.

As an aside, I find it interesting that two of my dearest intimates both have the same astrological sign, both were born in the same year and both have husbands who are 15 years younger than them...does that have something to do with their age-defying good looks and radiant demeanour? Hmmmm....

I was listening to the radio on my way home from acupuncture and heard how long the border line-ups were and told Lalitha that I couldn't bear for her to be in that both ways just for us to have a visit so we decided to postone as none of her gifts were non-perishable. Actually I'm kind of turning the tables on Lalitha as her belief of what one does when she has a birthday is either (a) forget completely about it or (b) if it is being acknowledged in some way, it is she giving gifts to her intimates. Well all I can say is that she is in for a bit of a surprise this year.

I tried to take advantage of the "free" time and go up to the upper office to rest but the combination of the major reno with major manpower and major loudest-imaginable power tools makes that a bit tricky even with my window closed and my silicone ear plugs stuffed into the deepest recesses of my eardrums. The other tricky thing is that my mind is going even faster than usual...I have one creative idea after another. I have pen and paper beside my bed to try and just write it down and then be able to nap but they just keep coming.

It actually reminds me of a time when I was seeing a neuropsychologist for PSTD--following my first bout of cancer. In our final meeting after he had fixed that all up we got to talking about other types of ways in which he tweaks people's brain patterns. He said that he has artists who come to him to further activate their creativity...well I was all over that!...he did acknowlege though that they tended to sleep less as a result...me whose just been going to see him to be able to sleep! but in my excitement I didn't really give that much weight. I told him that I would think about it and spoke to Lalitha about it later. She just laughed at me and said that that would be ridiculous to put myself back in the position of sleeping less and that I was plenty creative already. Well whatever part of the brain Dr. Swingle would have amped up appears to have naturally occurred. It's super fun but it is a bit tiring so I am spending as much time as I can in the upper office.

Estate Planning
Did you guys know that when you die, on the very day that you die, all your assets such as stocks are deemed to be sold (I don't believe that you actually have to but they are deemed sold) and all the capital gains are triggered and you get to pay a big fat tax bill....but...one can also donate money to NPO's thereby helping out charities whose work you believe in and get a charitable donation tax receipt and end up paying less death tax. Lurking financial friends and acquaintances can write to me if I got any of this wrong but that's the gist of it.

So odd as this might sound, this is something that is making me incredibly happy. I feel like a fairy with a magic wand...who am I going to sprinkle fairy dust on? I do have some ideas and I do have a very strong general area of interest which is: single women and children in the Downtown East Side. I am interested in finding out if there are micro-lending programs in existence, I'm wondering about housing projects, I'm interested in companion and working dogs for people after seeing that sightless man navigating the Downtown streets with just a red-tipped white cane. I am more interested in supporting programs that provide "the fishing pole rather than the fish as I believe one of the barriers to real change can be the multi-generational dependency on welfare and government handouts. I was really excited by an article that I read recently in the Vancouver Sun about young women in Calgary being trained in carpentry. It is a joint project between the Vermilion/YWCA and Habitat for Humanity. I have just started conversations with the Calgary folks. It is my understanding that this is not happening in Vancouver and would be expensive to start...needing a sizable physical space etc. so I am looking for other people who might have an interested in being involved.

Here is the link to the newspaper article:
http://www.vancouversun.com/story_print.html?id=1356910&sponsor=

So that took up most of my Wednesday and the morning of Thursday, then errands and an unsuccessful attempt at a nap and then I needed to get ready for a big evening out...

I feel a bit like a drag queen when I get ready to go out and put on make-up...mascara definitely has to come before the wig as I found out the first time that I did it the other way and ended up with mascara all over my faux follicles.

I'm losing my eyelashes and actually attempted to put on false ones but did such a terrible job that I had to rip them off as well as a few of the few remaining real ones...ah...vanity.


Ta Da! Wig on. My new-to-me fabulous Betsey Johnson "Bambi print" dress on...the same one that I was coveting at a different consignment store last summer but as that one was a bit too large for me and because I was certain that no one but me would want to buy it...I held out for it to be further reduced only to have it sell! But then, last week, there was--in my size--in a different consignment store. That's a sign from the Universe to buy it, right?

I'm outside my place, just waiting for the rest of the Fab Four, to get this party started!




On our way to Lumière with our charming cabbie Charan.

Please note that the Fab Four are not just fabulous but also responsible.










Outside Lumière. That's Kelly to my right and Natasha and Dolly to my left.

The Fab Four's Lumière dinner
I wanted to go out with Kelly for an awesome dinner while she was in town and ended up inviting Dolly and Natasha to join us. I debated between Lumière and Market and we settled on Lumière. I'm so glad we did.


This is Dwayne--who belongs in the über-echelon of waiters--let's call him a superserver...kind of like supermodel but with brains and charm and endless patience and good humour. All of which we Fabs greatly appreciated.

There was a nine-course "chef's tasting" menu that had zero details. I asked Dwayne if it was a secret or if we could find out what it would entail. I had already anticipated that we might want to do that and when I called to make a reservation, I spoke with Tiffany and asked if it was a problem if one of us was a strict vegetarian. Tiffany assured me that the chefs would be able to accommodate that and I could hear her typing notes as we spoke including that Kelly ate dairy but not seafood (I think that's pescatarian, you faux veggie fakers).

Dwayne said with a smile that it was not a hard and fast secret and said that he would go speak with the chef and report back. He was gone for several minutes and then explained that normally when there are two people having the chef's tasting menu, they prepare two different dishes for each course, totalling 18 different dishes but as we were (he thought) three and one, there would be 27 different dishes and he proceeded to eloquently describe each and every one of the dishes. I was much more enticed by what Kelly was having and asked to have exactly the same. I then complemented Dwayne for his delivery skills and he showed us that he had done it with writing only one word per dish when the chef had told him what would be served and in what order! As I said, he is in a category all his own.

The food was all excellent! Here are some visuals:








This was my first course...instead of a gauche coulis...they have literally painted on a smear of red beet! I was in aesthetic and taste-bud heaven.



Natasha said that this reminded her of those Asian rice crackers...I don't think they usually put black truffles in those though.

This was an insanely delicious roasted eggplant dish.

We spent six hours having dinner, luxuriating in our 9-course, premium-wine paired dishes, interspersed with hilarious conversation as my buddies all got to know each other better.


Here are my BBFs tryin' on some LL:



I was so impressed with how fabulous the food was and the flexibility that the kitchen exhibited with the "I am allergic to beets" and "I am allergic to tomatoes" and "I'm not allergic to anything but I hate cilantro." All of this Dwayne carefully noted even to the degree that in the first course Kelly did not get beets on her salad but I did even though I had asked for exactly what she had asked for...very impressive. The most charming moment was when after we had all laughed about the smiji mushrooms that the carnivores would be getting and I oohed and aahed when the dish came out...well wouldn't you know that two courses later Kelly and I had our dishes tweaked with some smijis. It was at that point that I asked Kelly to go and take a picture of whomever what whipping up this amazing food. I guess they were a bit overworked as this is what she came back with:











I was a documenting fool taking tons of photos. All of a sudden I spied Dolly's cleavage from across the table. I said to Natasha who had just met Dolly and Kelly that evening, can you believe that Dolly just turned 60?


As for me...what do I have? A demi-cleave? No need to feel sorry for me though. Cumulatively I nursed my two kids for 4 1/2 years, I have a kick-ass yogini tattoo over my mastectomy scar and I am still kickin'. No regrets. But I still can admire my BBF's racks.

Natasha and Dolly were having a bit of a "whose travelled to more places" face-off and had Kelly and I in hysterics with some of their match-ups...ever been to Hurtigruten? Well they have.

We really could not have had a better time. These pictures tell the tale. Just a warning though, all that chef flexibility and you can have anything you want and make any change or tweak you want leads to a final bill that is not for the light of wallet. That said, it was worth every penny and the experience was priceless.

oh, what's that? You're wondering where Kelly and I got our gorgeous necklaces? I'm so glad you asked...check out http://www.screamingpeacock.ca/ ...that's my custom-designed, one-of-a-kind and very limited edition jewellery website. The latest designs section is way out of date...but you'll be glad to know that the 2nd annual Summer Solstice Screaming Peacock Soirée has been set for Thursday, June 18th. Glenda is hosting again and she has promised a repeat of the Lemon Drop Martini Fountain. Sorry gents, it's gals only. But feel free to email me if you want to surprise your honey with something special zoe(at)screamingpeacock.ca

True Stories

Yesterday was pre-chemo prep day at the Cancer Agency.

It started off well--albeit early:

9 am: lab work. Praised the nurse doing the "poke" saying that she had a gentle touch and it was appreciated and adding that there are people who are really bad at it and they always blame the patient. She said I had made her day.

10:30 am which turned out to be 11:30 am: appointment with my oncologist, Dr. Karen Gelmon. Zipped through a long list of questions. I need to take a moment to praise Karen yet again. I had emailed Karen two weeks ago with my concerns about the neuropathy that was developing in my feet and hands. She responded saying that she might consider reducing the dose of the Taxol, the chemo that is known to give that side effect, though not usually so early into the chemo protocol. I sent Karen an email detailing all of the chemo side-effects that I had had in the nine days following dose #2. It was a very long email. I told Karen that I was very interested in having the dose lowered so long as it would not compromise the efficacy of the chemo cocktail. As I said in a previous post, neuropathy can be permanent and the long-term realities of living with neuropathy made me feel sick-at-heart. So...in our meeting yesterday Karen said that she was going to lower the dose by 25% partly because I have lost weight and partly because from my symptoms it was clear that the dose was too high. As a bit of an aside, I happened to do something very smart, which was to jot down imy smymptoms n my Moleskine every day...just a word or two. That allowed me to whip off an accurate list to my oncologist. If I had not done that and had just walked into my oncologist's office having no sense of reflection of the first ten days following chemo I would not even have remembered how brutal it was. Because yesterday morning I looked and felt great and who wants to remember when one didn't? One other item on my list was the notion that I could try icing my hands during the Taxol IV (about 3 hours of the 7 1/2 hours). When I had read through all the literature of the three chemo drugs that I am taking, it was the possibility of peripheral neuropathy that worried me. Jewellery designers need to be able to feel their hands. Mothers and dog owners, ideally, able to feel their feet and are able to walk without a cane, not to mention ride bikes, ski and do whatever else it is the family is up for. So...I started asking everyone who I was coming in contact with about how I might prevent peripheral neuropathy. I asked my beloved TCM, Sunny Lee, who reassured me that accupuncture can be quite effective in alleviating neuropathy, especially if you receive treatments right when it begins. I read in some breast cancer forum that someone had received ice gloves when they were receiving Taxotere which is a sister drug to Taxol.I asked my brilliant physio Judy Russell what she thought of the idea of icing the hands and she said she could see how the ice would constrict the blood vessels and that could minimize the amount of chemo that the hands would "take up." I forgot to ask Karen Gelmon both times that I met with her just before doses #1 and #2. I did ask the chemo nurses just prior to each dose. The first time I was told that it was just done with Taxotere and that it was just done to try to stop people's nails from blackening and falling out (lovely) and that it had nothing to do with preventing neuropathy. The second time my initial nurse said "can't hurt to try" but then went off shift and I felt like it was too busy to try to pull it off. In yesterday's appoinmtment with Karen I finally remembered to ask her about trying the icing and she was completely open to it and wrote down a req for the chemo nurses to do that.

12:15 pm: Anti-nausea wonder drug prescription needed to be filled and a very quick inhale of some lunch before getting back for:

1 pm: Pamidronate IV on the 6th floor of the Cancer Agency: The first sign that things were going downhill was that my chart was lost even though they had been trying to get it for hours, anticipating a problem with the tight turnaround between my oncologist's appointment and my IV. A nurse who I had not had before and who shall remain nameless...actually let's call her "I"...said she would just start me with a saline drip so we were good to go once my chart arrived.

She warmed up my hand--standard procedure--and then sterilized my left hand and as she was about to insert the needle I closed my eyes and went to my happy place. I could feel something was wrong right away. She was too gentle and too hesitant and it did not go in. By now my eyes were open and I was cross. "That really hurt," I said and added that it was the second time that the first try didn't work. She blamed it on my veins...that they look good but they are short and the one that she had tried had an obstruction. She started the process again, re-warming my hand. When she sat down to do it again, I asked her how the other vein looked. "I will not do this a third time," I said "how about if you ask another nurse to do it." "Oh no, no need," she said and sure enough the second one went in no problem and I asked for my warm flannel blankie, an extra pillow for my head and started to do some reading "homework" I had.

About 30 minutes later another patient entered the room...he was a very sweet and smilely elderly Asian man. He spoke English with a very thick accent but fortunately the nurse also spoke Cantonese so there was no problem for them to communicate. She started the hand-warming process with him. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and when I opened them I saw the tell-tale white guaze with clear tape on his arm indicating that she had screwed up her first try with him as well. She shot me a look and I returned it with the thought bubble "You are so busted!" She called for another nurse to come and do the second try, yelling out of the room "His vein collapsed." The other nurse said that she would be right there but "I" for some reason...trying to prove to herself that she wasn't inept?...or trying to prove to me that she wasn't inept?...she did the second try herself. And again, through no fault of her own...because this sweet and still-smiling gentleman's veins were so bad, her second try had not worked either. As the competent nurse walks in, let's call her "C" there is all sorts of laughter...ha ha ha...your veins are so bad....ha ha ha...just think of hoses...as if the problem was what this man was thinking about when the nurse had been trying to insert the IV...this man who could not have been more relaxed, or patient, or accomodating. Third time lucky. No problem. The gentleman made a joke about how there was no problem when the pretty young one did the IV and ha ha ha weren't the two nurses laughing. "I" made a comment about how she had been able to put the needle into this man the last time he was in as if she thought she should get an award of merit for being able to have done her job. No award today honey.

"I" left the room and did not return until my IV was done. Usually whenever a nurse is going to leave the room, one of the patients is handed the call button and instructed to push it if anyone needs anything. "I" did not do this. The sweetheart and I had a chat. I had to pay very careful attention to decipher what he was saying...he was really just dear...75 he wanted me to know...and would have chatted the entire time but I was pooped and told him I was going to have a little nap and he said that he would too.

"I" came back just as my IV was finishing and tried to make small talk with me. I just couldn't. I asked her as calmly as I could if she had noted in my chart that my hand should not be used. "No," you can just tell the nurses. "What if I forget?" I asked. Then I added "Do you note how many times you poke someone?" "Oh yes" she said. She starts trying to defend what had happened earlier and I just let loose "No one should ever have to be poked three times!" I spat out. "Oh no," she said "that never happens." "It happened to that lovely man, just now!" I said and started to rant: "It's not okay for you to be laughing while you are hurting people. Do you have any idea what your patients are all going through? The chemo, the blood work, the extra IV's? It is not okay to be casual about it. Try putting yourself in our shoes. Imagine that it is you in the chair and the nurse can't get your vein and hurts you!" By this point I am shaking and there is blood spurting out of where she had just took out the needle. She grabbed my hand and cleaned it off and offered to help me gather my belongings. I declined. As she walked away she asked the lovely gentleman how he was doing, if he needed anything and offered him some juice, which he accepted.

As I was leaving I looked him in the eye and said "Take Care" and added that I had really enjoyed my chat with such a good-looking man. He laughed so hard and said that it was a long time since a woman had said that to him. I said that there's no telling where you're going to meet a great guy, and walked out of the IV room and left the building.

3:30 pm: Stopped off for groceries on my way home. Just as I approached the exterior of Whole Foods my eye caught all of the tulips displayed and I decided that that was just the pick-me-up that I needed. Just as I was closing in on which I wanted, a woman came out of the store and plunked down a gorgeous bouquet of pink-and-green-hued parrot tulips, pink tulips and grasses back into the display bucket.

"Oh, those are gorgeous," I exclaimed. The woman replied "$14.99! And these ones" pointing to some plain-jane small big-yawn tulips "are 3 bunches for $10. "Yeah" I said "but these are spectacular and those are boring" and started to reach for the bouquet that she had decided against. In a flash of an second, this woman swooped her arm past mine and pick back up the bouquet saying "I'm going to get these after all." I started to laugh and said "I guess I talked you back into them. I was going to buy them." She turned to look at me full-on and said with a straight face and apparently a very short-term memory "I picked these out very carefully. These are mine." "Bbbbut," I stammered "you put them back. You decided against them because they were more expensive than the other ones." Clutching very tightly to her bouquet, she said "Oh I'm sure we can find you something else...oh look these ones are nice." "I can take care of myself." I said and she retorted "I'm sure you can!" and stormed off.

I finished up my shopping...trying to think of healthy and yummy food that would work for me post-chemo and then got in the car. The radio was set to CBC and the host of the afternoon show was mid-interview with a young man who was describing how his one-man was developed. He was describing how cathartic it had been for him and was also for the audience...to be able to laugh at ....cancer....I listened intently trying to catch the gist of the theatre piece and the name of it. This guy literally plays cancer in a piece entitled "This Is Cancer?" Audience members get to participate, yelling and laughing, at what to most would be the worst-thing-imaginable-to-have-happen to me/someone I love....For the record, there are way worse things. I took my tuning into that interview to be a sign that I should remember not to take any of what had just happened to seriously. After all, there was no need to stew about anything. I had handled it in the moment and I get to cathart in today's blog posting.

http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/culture-and-education/cultural-festival-and-events/event-listings/-/57622/34048/10j94hk/this-is-cancer.html

I took my tuning into that interview to be a sign that I should remember not to take any of what had just happened to seriously. After all, there was no need to stew about anything. I had handled it in the moment and I get to cathart in today's blog posting. I got home and went straight to bed after apologizing to a friend for not calling her in what was supposed to be the window between appoinments earlier in the day. Kelly made a surprise visit and I sat and drank green tea in my flannel bathrobe and my beloved grey hat (a gift from someone on the Callanish retreat who thought that I would need a cozy hat for my newly bald head) and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Who Knew?...Who Didn't!

"Brain scans [show] that when a man's brain is in a resting state, at least 70 percent of his brain is shut down. On the other hand, when women were resting, at least 90 percent of their brain was active, confirming that women are always thinking....In another study, when asked to think of nothing, men's brains were more active in the more primitive physical activity centers, [while] womens brains were more active in the emotional centers. Left to themselves, men will think about sex [or] their jump shot; women will think about their spouse, their children or parents."

~author/neuropsychiatrist Daniel G. Amen, Sex on the Brain, 2008,
excerpt from Chatelaine Magazine, Feb. 2009, pg. 40, reprinted without permission.

Gender-Bending

I was born in 1960...the very last year to be part of the baby-boomer bulge. This has irked me for decades. Any time I had a new interest, hobby or past-time I would discover that the gunters had already discovered it and that they had been there and were already doing that.

For some things this was/is mildly irritating such as taking up knitting or...but for some things such as collecting folkart furniture, or loving the pursuit of fab fashion finds at Value Village and consignment stores this completely pisses me off as it means that those people who are supposedly my people are inflating prices and reducing supply. Grrr.

Why am I telling you all this? Because whilst reading The New York Times in bed Sunday morning, green tea at my left hand, sweet Sadie curled into the curve of my legs, Charlotte doing her own thing and Zack in California, I read--in a very funny and well-written article entitled: "Take Their Word, They're V.I.P.'s" by Guy Trebay.--" 'This has been a great season for lesbians,' one fashion editor said,'...Others saw in the season's gender games signs of the steady and stealthy migration of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender influences into the culture at large...'Oh, I love my bull-daggers,' Beth Ditto, the outrageously gifted singer of the Gossip, pronounced before Wenesday night's show, referring to old-school butch lesbians.'...A 'femme' herself, Ms. Ditto lives in a committed relationship with a transgender person. 'But I do love a man-hater," she said. "

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/15/fashion/15diary.html?ref=style

Now I wouldn't put myself in the category of a man-hater--after all one of my dearest intimates is a verging-on-manhood guy. But...there was a time, about four years ago when I declared that I was done with men. I told the person I was speaking with that I had been in so many relationships with so many different types of men and that I was done!

I made the half-serious comment that perhaps I would try relationships with women. Well, it's been four years of not even a sniff of a date never mind a relationship of any kind with either gender, but perhaps this is my moment? I'd just have to specify that I'm only available for a short-term relationship. Given people's commitment issues, that theoretically shouldn't be an issue.

To be continued..

Close Shave

Yesterday I learned the true meaning of a close shave when I had an as close an encounter with a straight razor that you can get, without being done in. I also learned earlier that day that one can still be vain even when one has metastatic cancer, is undergoing chemo, and is losing her hair...that someone of course is me and I have not been entirely pleased with my bald look.

In fact, I looked like 70's punk rocker who had had a mohawk, gotten tired of it, and then decided to get a buzz cut. It was mildly interesting to observe the female chemo-balding pattern that was occurring but it was getting a low score on the Zoё stylin' scale.

So...I walked into my local barber and got my head shaved with a straight razor.

Oh yeah baby...$18 plus tip and I went from chemo bald to kick-ass bald.

March Madness

Wow. The last few days have been bonkers busy. I spent four hours with my lawyer and accountant on Wednesday and then on the way home did errands in prep for Zack's California trip (very early this morning) and Charlotte's family birthday party (last night). I was in American Apparel buying a couple of t-shirts for Zack when all of a sudden I had a complete low blood sugar crash. This is not surprising given that it was 2:30 p.m. and all I'd ingested so far that day was some Amazake (a heath-nut drink of fermented brown rice). I ran across the street to Whole Foods and got myself a huge lunch: veggies freshly-juiced , pea soup and two skewers of specialty-chicken yakitori. My hands were shaking and I was sweating as I inhaled the food. I zipped back to American Apparel...the crash had been so extreme that I couldn't even take the couple of minutes to pay before eating...and paid for Zack's shirts.With food in me I felt much better and as the cashier was ringing through the payment, I commented on the behind-the-counter display of "Butt" magazine that was peaking out of about five different-coloured canvas bags. "That's the magazine that created such a controversy, wasn't it? She nodded.

A couple of months ago, a very angry mom made a huge stink over the fact that she had been in American Apparel with her young teenage daughter and the daughter pulled "Butt" magazine that was part of a display on the floor of the store and opened it up to find what you would expect to find inside a magazine entitled "Butt"--an adult would or should know what they're in for if they open a mag like that but not necessarily a young teen. I said that I empathised with the mom but on the other hand, it is just "so American Apparel" and said I was glad that they had figured out a way to continue to be politically incorrect but not inappropriately so (my bfo*).

When I had first been in the store I had been on the phone with Kelly and had commented that when I was on the American Apparel website looking for a cotton dress for her to paint for me, that I had realized just how skanky many of the clothes were. Kelly said "Yeah, but in a 70's roller-skating in hot pants and knee hi's kind of a way." We had a good laugh and I said "Yeah, they should use the slogan 'retro skank' in their marketing." As a digression from my digression...I actually emailed American Apparel my suggestion and told them they could have it for free with just a modest request for some free product--of the non-skank variety--should they run with it. No word back yet but they promise to respond to all emails so I'll keep you all posted.

Okay, where was I...oh yeah...trying to build the case for how exhausting my Wednesday morning and afternoon were. I got home just in time for Charlotte to get picked up for jazz class. Zack was at volleyball practice and I took to my bed. Nate got home just before his godfather Sean came to pick him up to go for dinner. I was so tired that I called Sean while he was downstairs to say "Hi" and say that I just couldn't get out of bed.

On Thursday I made up a to-do list for Tom--Thank God for Major Tom who is kindly impersonating a personal assistant for a few months--and went to bed, trying to conserve enough energy to go to my book club that evening. I kind of felt obligated given how lovely the book club gang has been to our family with their frequent acts of kindness and delicous food that they have been leaving for the kids and me since I began chemo. I knew that I would have a blast once I was there but I was pooped. I had planned to take Zack to the mall to find a dress shirt, pant and a tie for his hockey trip...I couldn't believe it when I read the email that said that it had been decided that the boys would dress up for their travel days...some of the boys are at private schools and of course have such things...but Zack's wardrobe consists of three pairs of American Eagle jeans and a few t-shirts and hoodies...I actually had to email all of the parents to ask where to buy such things...anyways I realized that a trip to the mall was required...something that I do with great reluctance about twice a year. I was so tired that I asked Tom if he would take Zack and offered the services of Charlotte, fashion consultant extraordinaire. Charlotte said she would only go if Laura went, and Laura--who is eight-months pregnant--kindly agreed to partake of the shopping adventure which like any self-respecting 14-year-old guy, Zack was vehemently trying to get out of.

I stayed in bed but had the phone next to me in case there were shopping conflicts. The first call was Tom asking if Zack should get a light grey or black shirt to go with black dress pants. I said black thinking that he could use the outfit for my funeral if need be. Then I got a call from Zack asking me if he could get a pair of sunglasses to complete the outfit. "How much are they?" I asked. "$50 or $60," was Zack's reply and I said "No." A few minutes later I got another call from Zack. "Can I get a hat? It's a really nice hat." "What kind of a hat?" I asked. I could hear Zack conferring with Tom and Laura. "It's a bowler," he said. "Zack," I said "this a hockey trip not a theatre performance."

At about 6:45 pm, just before the kids got home, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Then I figured out what to wear and put on my hottie wig and was almost ready when C-A came to pick me up for book club. The kids weren't the slightest bit sad to see me go as Deanna had come to hang out with them while I was out.

Book club was even more fun than usual which is really saying something. M. had selected Nigella Lawson's cookbook "How To Be a Domestic Goddess" as our book and everyone had been requested to bring a dish that used a recipe from the book for a tasting. Fun was had from the get-go but really heated up when L. made the comment that she loves cooking and cookbooks so much that she even takes them to bed with her. I commented that I could really see that in this case as NIgella's writing was so sensual. This led to a number of Nigella impersonations...one funnier than the next. I've never seen her "live" but apparently she has a TV show and that she is really known for working her hot bod and having close-ups of licking cake batter--finger in, turn of the wrist, tongue out, eyes rolled back, creamy batter to lips, and mmmmm. I don't actually ever need to see the show now, because I don't think that Nigella herself could top M.'s impersonation.

Normally we rate the chosen book prior to our taking turns expounding on our bfo*'s and then afterwards, but this time we decided that we could rate it based on how many times A. had to remove her steamy glasses that had fogged up from laughing so hard. On that scale, the book got a "3."

I got home after 11pm and Zack was still up. He asked me to tie his tie (only two years of private school--grade 7 and 8 but tying a tie really is like riding a bicycle) and then told me that he wanted to show me his outfit and disappeared down to the basement to get changed. All I could think of was being horizontal but this was obviously a big deal to him and I waited. Zack came up looking oh-so handsome and with the smooth moves of Fred Astaire took me in his arms and started ballroom dancing me around the kitchen. Us being us we then broke out into conga-line dancing with a bit of free stylin' to finish it off. It was a precious, heart-exploding timeless few moments, tucked safely away in my memory bank as a counter-balance to the inevitable feisty Mama/feisty son conflicts.

I'm sure that some of you who have been following the blog are wondering why there isn't a photo of Zack any where to be found. Is it because he's got a face that only a Mama could love? No...it's because he is 14 and when I try to take a photo things like this occur:


Friday morning and afternoon went like Thursdays: met with Tom and then went back to bed where I stayed until it was time to take a shower and get dressed up to take Charlotte out for her family birthday party with Zack, Tom and Laura. Charlotte received a new top after school as I knew she'd appreciate having something new to wear to the whatever and whereever...no questions allowed...birthday event. Her official birthday is March 21st but she's going to be away so we had decided to do it just before Zack went to California. We went to the Eatery and then came back home for Evi cake--so named as it was the kid's great-grandmother's very favourite triple-chocolate mousse cake from Sweet Obsession and Evi would use any excuse to order one including for a time any dessert for any dinner that the kids and I came to--as well as gifts.

I was a documenting fool and got Tom and Laura in on the act so there are actually some great photos of the evening. First are some shots that reveal something of my son's theatricality:


















But with some very strong intention, bribing, threatening and cajoling, there were also some photos like this:



And the birthday girl? Well she and the camera lens are very sympatico and so there's no shortage of great pics of her:















Tom and Laura and Baby Shelby (about 5 weeks away from being welcomed to the world) went home at about 10 pm. "But there's no photos of Laura," you protest. "She can't go home 'til we have a photo of her!" Ah, but you forget that at eight months pregnant, Laura has pre-approval prior to all personal photo posting and you my dear followers tend to get a bit testy if there are days between posts.

The party was over but now there was the packing up of Nate who left for California very early this morning. I stayed up until 12:30 pm making sure that all his documents were filled out,. His clothing, well I take no responsibility for that as he would not let me within 6 feet of his carry-on suitcase but I did notice that "packing" to him means throwing everything into his bag from across the room and means that he may earn the award for the most crumpled Canadian ever to visit California.

I fell into bed exhausted but happy, having spent such a delightful evening with my family. But then, barriers down from the effort of the day, I was suddenly awash in tears as I wondered how many more birthdays I will get to celebrate with my kids.

*bfo=big fat opinion in Zoë-speak"