I am finally well enough to bathe Lucas

I know, I know, many of you must be thinking "why on earth would you want to be well enough to scrub the dirty monster!" Granted, the whole bathing a water-hating-I-rather-die-than-have-you-shampoo-my-hair- little-mongrel-doggie-monster does have its down sides: from the tangled poop (don't ask) to the tangled twigs in his butt (really get a short haired dog), down to the struggle to get him to stop curling into a tight ball when I am trying to dry his hair; but it's the commonness of it that's beautiful. For the first time in a over a month I was able to hold my dog and painstakingly extract pieces of my garden from his hair. I spent the time to free him of all tangles and even styled him to perfection.

A few weeks back the idea of standing for more than a few minutes, lifting my arms, or even lifting Lucas was unthinkable. Today I used my arms without pain, bent down without effort, stood up without hesitation, and spent precious time taking care of my constant companion. It was also a relief to see that he still hates his bath...it brings a sense of normalcy to my life; perhaps even a sense of peace and hope that things will once again be as they were before (if not better).

And now for you enjoyment and Lucas eternal embarrassment, here are some pictures of my wet, shampooed, and blow-dryered doggie. (Lucas, please forgive me for sharing these with the world!)

This is sooo humiliating, are you actually taking a picture of this?!?!?!?

Oooooh, not the close up!!!!

For peat's sake, get it over with already!

I get older & live to see my 32nd birthday!

Mom and I pose at Buca Di Bepo in Palo Alto where a few friends gathered to wish me a happy birthday. Hair: Rossie (mom); Wardrobe: Nordstrom (also Mom); Make-up: Bare Essentials medium tones (Paola); Sexy Lipstick: Channel Rouge Allure collection (you guessed it, mom!).

Jeremiah, Michelle and Matt (wearing hat) pose for the camera. Note that Michelle is man-wiched by the tall athletic triathletes ...hmmm!!!

From front right to back: Jordan, Christina, Evan, and Mongoose. I'll post more pictures when Evan sends the rest...I ran out of battery after this shot!

A Few Lessons in Clarity

Unfortunately these, though chronologically recounted, span back to the hospital stay. I hope their potential for amusement will excuse my tardiness in reporting them.

> Will my stitches really explode?

One of the first things I remember amidst the morphine haze was the chief plastics resident--a very stern and cold former Israeli soldier--telling me that I had to be EXTREMELY careful with my stomach stitches as the skin was pulled quite taut and they could explode. Perhaps it was the fact that I failed to realize in our first encounter that he is a *RESIDENT* ("chief" non-withstanding) or perhaps the fact that I was high (though legally) at the time, but I took the man literally. He was particularly concerned about sudden movements or spasms including laughing, coughing, and most importantly vomiting.

Since I wasn't in a mood to laugh, nobody with any kind of cold-like germ was allowed within a mile of me, and I really rather dislike vomiting (plus I was on an all-IV diet), I really thought the explosion could be avoided all-together. Then night fell and the morphene's nausea monster reared its ugly head: I "projectiled" all night holding a pillow tight against my stomach waiting for the moment when everything (literally) would just come undone.

After a miserable night spent in fear, asking the nurse, mom and pretty much anyone around to please check the stitches, and a talk with my actual surgeon the following morning, my very real fears of a total abdominal explosion were set aside. "In the physical universe we inhabit there is no way that coughing, laughing, or even puking would un-do surgical stitches...where did you get that from?" my surgeon asked with a bewildered look on his face as though I had been recently lobotomized. Allie and I were happy to tell him his chief resident had been the culprit. The surgeon chucked it off to a misunderstanding, but I am happy to report his resident was gentle, clear, and not at all hyperbolic with me there-after :)

LESSON: Take everything residents say with a grain of salt; they mean well, but really, they don't have a clue how to talk to patients...yet. Hurray for teaching hospitals!


> How poisonous is Chocolate, really?

Apparently one of the key rules of cancer is no sugar, no coffee, no chocolate and clearly NO FUN! Though the surgery was fairly traumatizing given the complete reconstruction of my torso, I have to say the announcement that I was to turn into a monk was far more shocking.

"Ok, I get the no smoking, and the coffee bit, after all that stuff will give you cancer...oops (smile)! But chocolate? Seriously...CHOCOLATE?"
"Well, it also has caffeine"
"But how much, really"
"Enough to be a problem"
"What if I promise to eat only the really watered down kind? No Godiva for me, just Hersheys?"
Amused laughter
"The Soda, coffee, cigarettes and drastic reduction in sugar I can do...but you have to give me SOMETHING here"
"You have pain killers..." (mischievous smile)
"Point well taken. But still no chocolate. How long?"
"A while"
"Could you be more specific? In cosmic terms 100 yrs is a while, 1 year a mere thought"
"A short while"
"I don't mean to be a pain, but surely you understand I must retain at least one vice--I don't even have a boyfriend--throw me a bone here"
"How long can you go"
"How long do I need to go"
"I'd be happy with 6 months"
"Would you be content with 3?"
"I can live with that"
"Thankfully so can I"
"Deal"

LESSON: A "while" is not a medical term so you shouldn't let your doctors dupe you with it...the art of negotiation (even if for vices) is a key to post-surgical (and life) survival. Oh wait...I still can't drink, smoke, have coffee or sweets...damn!

> *ALWAYS* ask for clarification when doctors talk about pain "management"

I was reminded recently of a saying my high school AP history teacher used to say: "Never assume anything, as it makes an 'ass' out of of 'u' and 'me' (ass-u-me)". That is PRECISELY how I felt when I went to my oncologist last week.

As part of our conversation to get chemo set up, he asked me if I was off the pain medication.
"No", I said, "I am pretty consistently in pain, so am still popping pills daily."
"What?!?!?" -- He looked at me as though I had just run over his puppy several times with a ginormous SUV covered in "I Love Bush" stickers.
"Well" I continued trying to figure out what was so horrifying about the situation "It hasn't been a month since my surgery; I'd assumed that given the extent of the carnage, I'd be in a lot of pain. No?"
"Ok, so let me get this straight. You have been in pain, all the time, since the surgery"
"Correct"
"So what do the pain killers do?"
"They make it so that I don't want to cry 24-7, but merely whimper"
"Let me explain something to you. The whole point of pain 'management' is to NEVER be in pain so long as you are taking pain medication."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes. For your pain to be properly 'managed' your pain must be eliminated, rather than ameliorated by the medication. Your pain is not managed, it's merely tempered."
"Well, how nice."--I said remembering so many long nights wishing I still had the morphine-- "I wish someone would have told me this 4 weeks ago when I left the hospital!!!!"
"They didn't?"
"Not in those terms; they gave me the prescription and said this would help 'manage' the pain. And indeed my pain has been 'manageable', though never quite gone and sometimes quite excrutiating."
He hung his head low and peered at me over his glasses with a look of pity I keep getting from my doctors. "I am sorry to hear that. You should have never been in pain this whole time. Let's make sure this doesn't happen again; would you like stronger drugs since your current pain killers are not doing the job?"
"Absolutely!"

LESSON: Always ask your doctors what they mean by "manage", actually ask them what they mean by anything they say. Perhaps we should advocate for medical schools to teach vernacular in addition to medicaleese. Perhaps hospitals should also make translator services and/or dictionaries available?

Relese Notes > Paola 2.0 > Engage...

Hello?
Anyone there?
Testing 1, 2, 3...

Announcer: After the lovely photographic interlude, we'd like to resume our blog already in progress... Introducing the New, Improved (and still stain resistant) Paola 2.0

Thank you, thank you very much! It's lovely to see all of you again, carefully scanning the words and trying hard not to laugh at a cancer blog. But really, it's ok to laugh; it's much better for you than crying.

Before I get started in earnest I'd like to thank the lovely Allie -- APPLAUSE PLEASE -- for keeping the narrative going with heartfelt honesty and wit. I hope she'll jump in from time to time and share some more of her wisdom with us.

And now, for the main event: The unveiling of Paola 2.0 (no worries people, this will be strictly PG)

Key version improvements:

> Cancer tumors --yes there were TWO--successfully removed (yay!)

> 18 hrs+ of surgery yielded two perfectly healthy new bobbies--the twin girls are thriving alongside their proud new mama.

> Tummy tuck complete...at last flat stomach (bonus!)

Some fun facts:

> When Paola got to the recovery room, after having been on a respirator tube for close to 20 hrs, she wouldn't SHUT UP! How atypical, don't you think?

> Paola lost 14 lbs in the surgery. Who would have thought?

> Paola offered some interesting (and tri-lingual) comedy relief to family, friends and medical personnel with excited (and sometimes angry) morphine-induced hallucinations. I wish someone would have taped the German one :)

> The scar across her belly looks like a perfect smiley face--how cheerful!

> Though close to 19 hrs in length, her surgery DID NOT break the Stanford Hospital record--bummer.

> Most of the nurses and the surgical team were convinced that Allie and Paola were gay partners. We received many compliments on how cute a couple we made and how dedicated and loving Allie was. Though we were both extremely flattered, we had to tell them Allie's husband Mark may not want to share her with me :)

But seriously, it's a miracle of science and a gift of love that I am alive. The entire surgical team worked to exhaustion to construct this new, cancer free body for me. Then, incredibly dedicated nurses, docs and PAs worked tirelessly alongside Mom and Allie to get me through the hospital stay.

Following that, my friends and colleagues have delivered food, gifts, flowers, hope and love to keep me going at home. Mom has been amazingly graceful and strong, and completely dedicated to my care. Even Lucas has pitched in by steering clear of me as instructed by mom.

I am humbled, honored and immensely thankful to have such an incredible network of people looking after me. I can truly say that without your care I may not be here today. So rest assured that version 2.0 will be stronger, and even more kick ass than Paola Classic.

But this is just the beginning--and what a triumphant one! The road ahead is still hard, so let's start walking...shall we?

Rosie feeds us

My apologies to Rosie, Paola's beautiful mom, that I took such a bad photo of her. Here she is, making sure that Paola and I are fed.

new photo - Paola's wheels

Hi all, I don't know if Paola's still using this or not but I'm just getting around to downloading some photos from when I was in CA. This snazzy contraption is her wheeled walker, which conveniently could serve as a seat when the need arose.