tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41795161011806223762024-03-18T00:27:47.044-07:00Running for My Life: Fighting cancer one step at a timeThoughts from a tennis player and runner who ran right into leukemiaRonni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.comBlogger1210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-16354366026420552492022-12-10T20:20:00.004-08:002022-12-10T20:21:43.320-08:00Hot Chocolate Run: Festive and (sort of) fun<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIauTB8q4t9h5nrmmpwM20HCewXuOj5p_hG_jQB5crN8e8r6DnmyG5v_KeUW8CvR_x10xezLTtG84d-Qmsp7_A8j4MgEJN1H1PM7M80XrOM_lX_c6wpXjPHiM3l4QUgmdnxgb-wsvtVW6xyR6wLIJlG4JrdxX1IZGVyqnI3chUqhjf8nQII6vwTdeS/s3088/F3F50930-00D6-4CA9-A6AF-A0312EB8985D.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIauTB8q4t9h5nrmmpwM20HCewXuOj5p_hG_jQB5crN8e8r6DnmyG5v_KeUW8CvR_x10xezLTtG84d-Qmsp7_A8j4MgEJN1H1PM7M80XrOM_lX_c6wpXjPHiM3l4QUgmdnxgb-wsvtVW6xyR6wLIJlG4JrdxX1IZGVyqnI3chUqhjf8nQII6vwTdeS/w300-h400/F3F50930-00D6-4CA9-A6AF-A0312EB8985D.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to run</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />First things first, or last things first, the hot chocolate (with marshmallows) was delicious last Sunday at the end of the annual 5K, <a href="https://p2p.onecause.com/hcr2022">the Hot Chocolate Run for Safe Passage,</a> in Northampton. The run is festive and fun, but, </span><span style="font-size: medium;">not surprisingly, when b</span><span style="font-size: large;">eing made for so many people, the hot chocolate is not always the best. This year, many of us remarked on how good it was. I would have lingered if the people I came with didn't want to leave. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The event was fun, but the run, not so much. The delayed start time (about 15 minutes) made me stiffen up. I hadn't been training, unless you could call running around a tennis court training. I've been running about once a week, maybe three miles or a little less. Some weeks I didn't run though I jumped around a lot in exercise classes at the Y. Does that count? I</span><span style="font-size: large;">n the couple of weeks before the run, I made sure to add some hills. I thought it was enough to do it and feel OK. The hills through and around Smith College are tough. Normally I run up but this year I walked. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> I was part of a team of tennis friends this year – The Ace Capades – and the fast walkers in the group ended up walking more quickly than my very slow run. I don't have asthma, but I actually started wheezing. </span><span style="font-size: large;">The Fun Run, as opposed to the Road Race, is not exactly competitive. Runners pushed strollers. A guy in front of me juggled as he ran. He dropped a ball, stooped to pick it up, and started running again. People wore fun outfits. An instructor from the Y cheered for me as I ran the home stretch. When I saw her in class a couple of days later, I thanked her and told her I hadn't been feeling so great. She said I looked good. That made me feel better, in hindsight. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Who cares, right? Here's why I cared. My PTSD regarding getting diagnosed with leukemia after a slow race (the Saint Patrick's 10K in Holyoke) clouded my vision. Was I relapsing? My pride at having been a "real" runner was a wee bit damaged. At least if I "only" did a 5K, I didn't have to wheeze. The difficulty breathing lasted a while. One of my teammates who was walking back to the car with me stopped with me. I tried to get some better breaths in. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I perked up a bit. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1VveWwm5H1bMDR0OI5KZm9n5mKjCCvGP8wJa25d4ClV87Kxbdvi2uOw8Fj1GRGgRe72A1I98ZBScu1_uSlYAAly4CqK4Vba2KDrTt2o4Oh3vqiFpImJxeSld8zr5c_Y0V0fZU-n1LasDD9kkQ9kB0zoM0O80deNd0cParzMPYLk5LBBs6RlAPO9P/s4032/F0CC510D-FA65-4EC1-A5D6-0ABE24E2F513.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1VveWwm5H1bMDR0OI5KZm9n5mKjCCvGP8wJa25d4ClV87Kxbdvi2uOw8Fj1GRGgRe72A1I98ZBScu1_uSlYAAly4CqK4Vba2KDrTt2o4Oh3vqiFpImJxeSld8zr5c_Y0V0fZU-n1LasDD9kkQ9kB0zoM0O80deNd0cParzMPYLk5LBBs6RlAPO9P/s320/F0CC510D-FA65-4EC1-A5D6-0ABE24E2F513.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6th annual photo with Amy Willard</td></tr></tbody></table><span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Did I say I am doing some personal training at the Y? My trainer had done the race with Y members who were doing a "couch to 5k." I texted with her afterwards, when I got home. I think I scared her because I said I didn't feel so great. She wanted to know if I was light headed. I said no, I was just doing a reality check about the late start giving me problems. She said she thought that was normal.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I can do cognitive behavioral therapy on myself. What were the facts? I hadn't trained. I was 13 years "out." (Meaning 13 years after my fourth stem cell transplant, in the highly unlikely to relapse territory.) Speaking of which, I was probably the only one with multiple stem cell transplants doing this. The next day at tennis, when my group was coming on the court, I chatted with a friend who was coming off. I said something about not feeling great in the Hot Chocolate Run, and she said, "At least you were out there. I was at home drinking hot chocolate. "</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">All that aside, we raised money for a good cause. If you donated, thank you very much!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And there is also the matter of a nice new mug.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlMX83t2YsVc9MinlQShut-kzyoWTGrSRj85Awl8WxyxJS552VVcKXl0t3ll0rgftvJbdC1RvSSc2HDgaX-oXZAtOB6dQtVx2q37lZXG3bLyl2f1B2W0RwHdkPpW6TcZ4Qxz3WpcBfm_jK3czSh8FW_UtnsS94Ui-lrm9p1Xmxd9AnOVnhseH_ysD/s4032/77D2D307-6888-470F-8ADE-2FA234D611F8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlMX83t2YsVc9MinlQShut-kzyoWTGrSRj85Awl8WxyxJS552VVcKXl0t3ll0rgftvJbdC1RvSSc2HDgaX-oXZAtOB6dQtVx2q37lZXG3bLyl2f1B2W0RwHdkPpW6TcZ4Qxz3WpcBfm_jK3czSh8FW_UtnsS94Ui-lrm9p1Xmxd9AnOVnhseH_ysD/w300-h400/77D2D307-6888-470F-8ADE-2FA234D611F8.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-52173322805969000402022-11-22T06:51:00.004-08:002022-11-22T11:37:44.421-08:00Bad veterinary hospital, good puppy, and the things people say<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzx00q1Rp41fdZoPSvwIPQLfpmc2Hn7tkyx3HljDP0pb903iBCZnXZOQK24Ja456MNkQqljKdnC7XhT5vE74Q0rRkzoEpGXpdB7enrbpZvzm3yBUd5Al9liAiURbNFWKYaKRRymqEyLHa60BQqS9n-Yj9IimElx0jjBYTOn45ImoP2H9U53GZtXdA/s4032/E74E8718-56AC-405E-9BE4-0BC45061050B.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzx00q1Rp41fdZoPSvwIPQLfpmc2Hn7tkyx3HljDP0pb903iBCZnXZOQK24Ja456MNkQqljKdnC7XhT5vE74Q0rRkzoEpGXpdB7enrbpZvzm3yBUd5Al9liAiURbNFWKYaKRRymqEyLHa60BQqS9n-Yj9IimElx0jjBYTOn45ImoP2H9U53GZtXdA/s320/E74E8718-56AC-405E-9BE4-0BC45061050B.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too many choices</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Yesterday was the first time I talked in person to my vet after the mess at the Veterinary Emergency and Specialty Hospital, or VESH, in Deerfield, surrounding Maddie's death. It is a great irony that they saved her life when she was hit by a car years earlier and made life so miserable at her passing. I like to think that she didn't know what was going on. She liked everyone and obviously wasn't wondering why people were poking at her and vets were giving her a surgery that she didn't need.</span><p></p><p>My vet said she and the others aware of the case were greatly disappointed in how they handled it. I said it felt like QVC: "Operators are standing by to take your credit card." (For a down payment on the $5,000 surgery.) I went over with my vet that they had given me half an hour to decide on whether to go ahead with the surgery. I couldn't think straight. She asked if they had given me a good explanation (no, not really), or given me any money back (no) because she thought they should have done it. Well, the explanation was that this was the small window for getting the surgery done by a vet who was available and who specialized in older dogs. But it didn't satisfy my need to know WHY they were pushing it at all. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiWkfjqwpUYQg_zHYrAReBSr-bYiLExJ-GOI0BiUcVGjR6Bt5__oDG98et2lTM4kbX0JHiYg7h0PpGZySrNVdzyICBY6rh5UWUlfQEgZ173wOLOv8y_02-kXUK0pvojBOIOyiDxX-sh65BHlZOX1DhXVLu8MvlGA1dLBWFZonogG0YXRZcLbqJ1ar/s4032/86FC63C2-F9A3-4984-8E49-C6700FAF4C1E.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiWkfjqwpUYQg_zHYrAReBSr-bYiLExJ-GOI0BiUcVGjR6Bt5__oDG98et2lTM4kbX0JHiYg7h0PpGZySrNVdzyICBY6rh5UWUlfQEgZ173wOLOv8y_02-kXUK0pvojBOIOyiDxX-sh65BHlZOX1DhXVLu8MvlGA1dLBWFZonogG0YXRZcLbqJ1ar/w239-h282/86FC63C2-F9A3-4984-8E49-C6700FAF4C1E.jpeg" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting her sister</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I asked if I should try now to get some money back, and she said no. It's only been five months though, so maybe I will call or write again. In any case, she said, now you have THIS.<p></p><p>The buried lede is that THIS is my new black Lab puppy, Gracie. She is a bundle of joy and enthusiasm. The enthusiasm extends to pulling up the corners of the rugs and eating the plants and chewing everything in sight. She also, however, sleeps through the night (very important) and stops squirming for long enough to have a good cuddle. She is a very good, gentle dog who loves everyone. </p><p>I looked at rescues, filling out a form asking for my whole life story, but couldn't handle the process and the uncertainty over not knowing what I was getting. I know that a black Lab will be a good dog. (Think Winnie, our huge black Lab who was so gentle with the kids.) Joe thought she looked like a Gracie, so Gracie she is. </p><p>On one of the first nights, I lay down on the den floor like I did with Maddie, and she came over and stretched out next to me. At that moment I knew I had gotten my money's worth. </p><p>I did, however, forget how much WORK puppies are. I have to train her on the gentle leader so that she does not pull me. That is a whole process, starting with feeding her in it and telling her WHAT A GREAT THING it is. Right now she has a kind of slip collar called a Martingale. It is basically a choke collar made of cloth. I try to give it a little yank backwards when she pulls, or I turn my back, but 1) she doesn't care about the yank and 2) it's too frickin cold to stand on the street with my back to a dog...though it does work for a minute or two.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4da8000ekLEKsKnTSTaow09Qs8IWHgjYzX6e0JD1Vt582slHWUNYpQIX4ThjOQ5wgwl6O4qcQ1KfSFwywl8vbzrTKZsfU8ZekXu3vgXeYgQ_gSF5zM3uVvaeQ-HRlLJULnyuRtd3GBZbsxCH45V_bMJ26757DhB12LIZd8wRnxsaIAYyKCOkvl_Jq/s4032/4EC6D5EE-3ED8-4FEB-8FF6-EC766FE0AB9C.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4da8000ekLEKsKnTSTaow09Qs8IWHgjYzX6e0JD1Vt582slHWUNYpQIX4ThjOQ5wgwl6O4qcQ1KfSFwywl8vbzrTKZsfU8ZekXu3vgXeYgQ_gSF5zM3uVvaeQ-HRlLJULnyuRtd3GBZbsxCH45V_bMJ26757DhB12LIZd8wRnxsaIAYyKCOkvl_Jq/s320/4EC6D5EE-3ED8-4FEB-8FF6-EC766FE0AB9C.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching Trump announcement</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I signed up for a private lesson with a trainer at Animal Alliances, where we are also doing puppy kindergarten. <p></p><p>Did someone ask about crate training? She picked up on it pretty quickly, though if I don't pay attention to her signals, out come the paper towels. She loves running after tennis balls (in the house so far) and brings them back to me with a "soft mouth," meaning that if it was a bird, she would not have crushed it. Like Maddie, she does not bark. </p><p>I was going to wait until spring. But I felt so forlorn without a dog. The house seemed so quiet. I have wondered if I am too old for this, but I seem to be surviving OK. I won't have Jim and Jane to help me out, so I am looking at other options. I am very sad about Jane not talking to me and not even telling me why. All I know is that Maddie was with them when she got sick. I did not blame them for anything. Maybe though she feels that I did? I called and left messages. Enough is enough though. I'm the one who lost the dog.</p><p>People are funny. As in odd, not ha ha funny. Most everyone has totally understood why I wanted another dog and encouraged me in my search. I'm a true dog person, and this is a dog's house. My neighbor across the street – human to a ginormous black Lab – saw how upset I was when Maddie died. And when she saw me walking puppy (or puppy walking me), she came over and gave me a big hug and said how happy she was for me. One good friend said that a puppy was the cure for the sadness. Others couldn't wait to meet the mystery dog. I wrote and then removed the tale (pun intended ) of an old friend who was very negative and opinionated about me getting a dog. It was very upsetting...but telling the whole story wouldn't make it any better. The kids were on board though, and that counts for a lot. </p><p>I have had moments where I ask, "What have I done?" That's when Gracie is driving me crazy and I feel like my time isn't my own. But she is a fast learner and very smart and playful and a real cutie. And like Maddie, not a barker. We are working it out. I need to find time to write and to exercise. I'm doing pretty well with that. Nothing wrong with a little crate time after she has been fed, watered, exercised, etc. I'm going to get her into day care but first need to find the energy to fill out yet another long application . </p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-27844312883380587482022-10-04T05:57:00.003-07:002022-10-04T06:10:34.214-07:00Please don't go down and look in my basement<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5LC3umQcipkTKD53bGHwSlKjnUWbo3FM-Mf8K3pXRvI0I0H_KbsKnyJa9NLssya_Y9GYdrq7AlV9ezz2C0ehmJGLDNaEdR9LaUubbs7SVdBwnT4QHELmtTZtYHC11mCjiojc6ugi0XI0yBdHyF5dnf3g_bTPeeEGpMI_7cY74ofnetGZsbrHB44Z/s640/40893BAC-C305-4855-A1BB-BB3E63C2EDB1.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5LC3umQcipkTKD53bGHwSlKjnUWbo3FM-Mf8K3pXRvI0I0H_KbsKnyJa9NLssya_Y9GYdrq7AlV9ezz2C0ehmJGLDNaEdR9LaUubbs7SVdBwnT4QHELmtTZtYHC11mCjiojc6ugi0XI0yBdHyF5dnf3g_bTPeeEGpMI_7cY74ofnetGZsbrHB44Z/w400-h300/40893BAC-C305-4855-A1BB-BB3E63C2EDB1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosh Hashanah centerpiece</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I put down a deposit on a white Lab mix who reminded me of Maddie. When I went to get the dog at a local rescue, the woman had accidentally given the puppy (6 months old or so) to someone else. I looked at another, older dog, who, when let out to run in the small yard, jumped on me and pushed me backward. I did the mature thing, which was to start crying. I left and said I would come back when more dogs become available.<p></p><p>If had gotten the dog then, the timing would have been bad, anyway. Due to Yom Kippur, I'd be out of the house for a good part of the day tomorrow, for going to services, and for dinner and services tonight. </p><p>I'm just starting to look, and as one friend keeps saying, my dog is out there. Still, when the Lab fell through, it was like losing Maddie all over again. There is a school of thought that holds that I should not get another dog, especially not a puppy, because of how it ties you down. And the other school's theory is that I am a dog person, I live alone, and I need a dog. I am in the second camp. One friend put it this way: The cure for losing your dog is to get a puppy.</p><p>You would not believe, or maybe you would, the number of questions that you need to answer when applying to adopt a dog. It's like applying for a mortgage, what with references and questions such as, if you don't have a fenced yard, where and for how long will you walk the dog? I've had five dogs in this house and have aways walked these dogs here, there and everywhere. Well, mostly to the lake at Mount Holyoke. I've been told that the questions are to weed out people who are not qualified to have a dog, so, I get it. You don't want to rescue a dog into a worse situation. But there should be an application like the Common Application for college. I thought of copying one application and sending it around but I don't want to offend anyone.</p><p>I especially like the question, how many dogs have you had and where are they now? Answer: I've had five in this house, AND THEY ARE ALL IN MY BASEMENT NOW. I GO DOWN THERE AND COMMUNE WITH THEM EVERY NOW AND THEN. Seriously, though, I list them and say they are in dog Heaven.</p><p>I had a lovely Rosh Hashanah, with a total of eight people here for dinner. I channeled my Mom to make a centerpiece. I love it when all three kids are together. The others were extended family and partners. We had a round challah, and I asked Ben to do my father's part about why we have it, which is for a year with no sharp edges. The sunsets have been amazing. Here's a photo from the other evening at the Lower Lake.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREhfQhz8_R4u_2OuWhLTEhV_ZPYpYoO5rNQh04LEohvJeOuoJr-1J6LVwSoPACW3LmWAIX5GiWlBNqUVUt71nyUPy3plw5ym8ARB9CHnq2ALE0JyJ1ULPh6ax_mwL1mANxcVcbIoSvKKgaz2weHU1U9ejEcbpAomZaS0Bx33y91jGPYfW-S1aQQmM/s4032/6F5103BB-6C10-4E76-9951-D917CC70FDCC.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREhfQhz8_R4u_2OuWhLTEhV_ZPYpYoO5rNQh04LEohvJeOuoJr-1J6LVwSoPACW3LmWAIX5GiWlBNqUVUt71nyUPy3plw5ym8ARB9CHnq2ALE0JyJ1ULPh6ax_mwL1mANxcVcbIoSvKKgaz2weHU1U9ejEcbpAomZaS0Bx33y91jGPYfW-S1aQQmM/w400-h300/6F5103BB-6C10-4E76-9951-D917CC70FDCC.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Next time I buy salvia for my buckets, I better look at how tall they grow. Or maybe it's kind of fun to have them so tall? They are good for cutting and putting into arrangements.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircBmql7zslQc8Pf7fihc0EhsWQVgKPvkmFOW3F76YTE6W63VDTFoTzp-fLBT2qqMb-FHH2ZmqvbJaF3r4BEKDtXKOcGNL0TUD9Oq9TVpIv7_tttMKwlxeVWuFbZ52qU4nDl_FUHzRuvJp0K1QnOVhB0QHY81Kk1utQnTHCMEzzz8SW9iqZAif1Jp4/s4032/2AD1C793-F069-443A-8A8A-83860219E158.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircBmql7zslQc8Pf7fihc0EhsWQVgKPvkmFOW3F76YTE6W63VDTFoTzp-fLBT2qqMb-FHH2ZmqvbJaF3r4BEKDtXKOcGNL0TUD9Oq9TVpIv7_tttMKwlxeVWuFbZ52qU4nDl_FUHzRuvJp0K1QnOVhB0QHY81Kk1utQnTHCMEzzz8SW9iqZAif1Jp4/w480-h640/2AD1C793-F069-443A-8A8A-83860219E158.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQjAiO4V0_ljUQyLhl7Y_bcyKHOkrTJxhpCrhwwO_WuXUulVXWa-AH_jjCPRaxuzG2cMQI_LtDEeT4dzd7mqjZTE57jnjd4-EuDnHPL0yu9ey2CRcfbn2RyZJmPAo1h1DKxADudiO6yNAP63GlkH_BffWdOGhPnsJemFYJovN467PU0tCshm6ztxH/s4032/F261BBB3-F7B4-491C-AE0A-BC7B25A52696.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQjAiO4V0_ljUQyLhl7Y_bcyKHOkrTJxhpCrhwwO_WuXUulVXWa-AH_jjCPRaxuzG2cMQI_LtDEeT4dzd7mqjZTE57jnjd4-EuDnHPL0yu9ey2CRcfbn2RyZJmPAo1h1DKxADudiO6yNAP63GlkH_BffWdOGhPnsJemFYJovN467PU0tCshm6ztxH/w480-h640/F261BBB3-F7B4-491C-AE0A-BC7B25A52696.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-69989339488540064542022-09-12T16:32:00.003-07:002022-09-15T09:10:47.875-07:00Here, there, and everywhere<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZu0lkK_wdJhtCzP1E_OE2ybY7pISu1jyu-DROw31T1QQoD-vJydXIRccaq-yJw4mUjnW3End4NvgZXNwHsGcDK80ULq0ROE9g0t315Gkddiv9aMHfgc4qCVAe_08oG6f8dfxa4yf8GnQlD8OgFmqQb1BxBJ-QmIptHd5ub5bE2Re6KxZ0JlUiy5q/s2320/768FDEB0-062C-4EC2-B06F-90906BEAAC43.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZu0lkK_wdJhtCzP1E_OE2ybY7pISu1jyu-DROw31T1QQoD-vJydXIRccaq-yJw4mUjnW3End4NvgZXNwHsGcDK80ULq0ROE9g0t315Gkddiv9aMHfgc4qCVAe_08oG6f8dfxa4yf8GnQlD8OgFmqQb1BxBJ-QmIptHd5ub5bE2Re6KxZ0JlUiy5q/s320/768FDEB0-062C-4EC2-B06F-90906BEAAC43.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Katie at the Delacorte Theater</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> I was half worried about my black-and-blue marks (low platelets?) and half realizing that they were due to 1) being a magnet for wayward tennis balls and a klutz who hits herself with her own racquet, and 2) being of a certain age at which you bruise more easily, and 3) having skin so thin and sensitive that just brushing up against something can cause a colorful bruise. Can you have platelet PTSD? It was a problem for such a long time (in the ER: "she has THREE platelets! ") when I thought I might bleed to death, that it is easy to see how I could be triggered.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But all was well at my most recent appointment, when I was still crying on an off about the dog. I wasn't sure I would make it on time because I had to pull over to cry, and then I got in Boston traffic. I texted Melissa to say I would be late, and she passed the message to Dr. Ho. When I finally got there, my blood pressure was super high. Then, while I was waiting in the room, magic happened. From out in the hallway, I heard a laugh so infectious (in a positive way) that it should be recorded and replayed for patients wanting a lift. It was my first doctor, Dan DeAngelo. He came to the doorway. We checked in about our kids. I could feel my blood pressure dropping. Then, more magic. Dr. Ho had a resident (or Fellow?) with him and spent so much time with me that I asked if he needed to leave. We talked about what happened with Maddie. He wanted to see photos, and he told me what a good long life I gave her. And no, he didn't need to leave. "We are having a healing session." Great to have a doctor who is interested in healing the whole person.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I have been here, there, and everywhere.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_frbbn4yAd4STR6X48Vd9vLm5QF5SsHtF4DA6Ol-dg8qrNMjcAkouD0Sdt8OvrmnOu_AhGgryf7Ai5bTLvDqf9WAaTF_mD2hVnkUCcsFrsybgHiAfgwVYqmT27NBHId48LjgwjCtbxmn5V34H3HLOCi_JUpYnW4vbhWon8TogEzFfVOx58EzV9qd/s4032/C7DD31CB-56E7-48DE-B326-658914F31F97_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_frbbn4yAd4STR6X48Vd9vLm5QF5SsHtF4DA6Ol-dg8qrNMjcAkouD0Sdt8OvrmnOu_AhGgryf7Ai5bTLvDqf9WAaTF_mD2hVnkUCcsFrsybgHiAfgwVYqmT27NBHId48LjgwjCtbxmn5V34H3HLOCi_JUpYnW4vbhWon8TogEzFfVOx58EzV9qd/s320/C7DD31CB-56E7-48DE-B326-658914F31F97_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donna and I went into the US Open<br />from a different entrance</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Back to Shakespeare in the Park with with Katie (fabulous musical version of "As You Like It"), Indigo Girls in Northampton, US Open tennis in Queens (on the bus again with Donna and other fans), home for a day, then back to NYC on Sunday for a matinee of the wonderful "Into the Woods," and back home the next day, with a stop in Fairfield. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was great to be back on the bus and have the traditional brownies on the way back. (When George asked what made my volleys so great at the next clinic, I said it was that it was eating both my brownie and Donna's.) The two of us have a real system now, as compared to the first year when we were clueless. We saw a little bit of everything...men's and women's singles, doubles, and practice sessions from prized seats. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAM-yHgobWo-Ygg5FLK5QtKNhBFWOnPXHvS3LLmQRmW7r6d3cpGqpK4c780lU8BLYeh4O88dC8960qp5Au-9Iwi_aqMFvcBO84XSTk3TyodVgM7ctnk_pSnyG0-wxJk_Dhjx463Ww8M5tqgc5B_FAdcTwcRW7xKuRi9b_LEvA47Exaa739SvXRbcj/s3088/196F19C1-8067-4A01-9BF1-8F85E2A9F9F8.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAM-yHgobWo-Ygg5FLK5QtKNhBFWOnPXHvS3LLmQRmW7r6d3cpGqpK4c780lU8BLYeh4O88dC8960qp5Au-9Iwi_aqMFvcBO84XSTk3TyodVgM7ctnk_pSnyG0-wxJk_Dhjx463Ww8M5tqgc5B_FAdcTwcRW7xKuRi9b_LEvA47Exaa739SvXRbcj/w240-h320/196F19C1-8067-4A01-9BF1-8F85E2A9F9F8.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I started driving into NYC in "high pandemic" because I didn't want to get on a train. Some people don't understand why I keep doing it, but I have a system that works, with strategically placed coffee/bathroom breaks and a spot reserved in a garage so as to pay a reduced fee. I used to pride myself on finding parking, but with all the restaurants out on the sidewalk, it is too hard to do. Now a reserve a spot in a garage. This at least saves some money as compared to driving in and paying the same day.</span></p><p>The house is so quiet without the dog. I still look around for her think to give her a leftover or pet her when she comes into the living room looking for me while I'm doing yoga. But it is getting better. </p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-14740613592477159712022-08-19T19:16:00.004-07:002022-08-19T19:36:28.189-07:00Dogs and dog Heaven and a quiet house<p><br /></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ8IWIfoDDyPknq792Ho3qYaQkgsbA4BEQVLVcr743FVCNCmMAvVSL8O1emGBYnzlHstuvYadGCGEMVrYXsgpHMMz-mvA0HsFlGSTtL6zbxjtmVcdDMsOv1fHQCq3pOL5jp8f2bG3T4h1_hqn7bNAxR4LXrEChEEwkHva5KaAwMcuNr6NROZYEQ4H/s3264/A1551063-EC62-4D18-9307-824ACF1DD5D4.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ8IWIfoDDyPknq792Ho3qYaQkgsbA4BEQVLVcr743FVCNCmMAvVSL8O1emGBYnzlHstuvYadGCGEMVrYXsgpHMMz-mvA0HsFlGSTtL6zbxjtmVcdDMsOv1fHQCq3pOL5jp8f2bG3T4h1_hqn7bNAxR4LXrEChEEwkHva5KaAwMcuNr6NROZYEQ4H/w237-h316/A1551063-EC62-4D18-9307-824ACF1DD5D4.jpeg" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Maddie at Tailgate</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The day that my beloved dog Simon died, my friend Pam, who had gotten Simon with me at a pound near Vassar, was visiting, so it was a bookend. He took his last breath in the back seat of my car after a visit to Dr. Ruder, as in, couldn’t have been ruder, when we took him there after his legs went out from under him in the yard. He was about as old as my big dogs got (11 or 12, until Maddie came along). We had tickets for Tanglewood that night, so we went ahead and went. I sat on the lawn and cried. The next day, still crying, I picked up the phone to hear my mother crying. My Uncle Warren had shot himself. My cousins came. We went to Brattleboro for lunch before a ceremony at the top of a mountain. Then we came back to the house and ate. And I cried some more, for my dog and for my uncle. At some point during those few days, I remember furiously dead-heading snap dragons on my front yard. <p></p><p><br /></p><p>Winnie, the big black Lab, had become as much Jim and Jane’s dog as mine, and they took her when it was time. Misty just fell asleep on the rug near the front door and never woke up. I believe my “baby brother” Sam died at the dog sitter’s. The story goes that at a family gathering, my mother was crying her head off, because he had been her special friend. “What’s wrong?” someone asked. “Sam Gordon died!” someone else said. “Who’s Sam Gordon?” </p><p><br /></p><p>“The dog!”</p><p><br /></p><p>Starting when Maddie turned around 14 or so, she had really slowed down. When I walked her across the street to get to the lake, I was worried that we might get run over. Some people didn’t have the patience for it. (Me to that person: “Then don’t walk the dog with me. I need to do it.”) But the dog people got it. It was worth it to get her to the lake. The years melted off. She was so happy sniffing around. If it was too hot, I walked her after the sun went down. She liked to sit in the ground cover near the door when I watered the plants. She loved walking to the lake with her friends Sue Ellen and Mary Margaret. She liked going “downtown” with her new friend, Rusty. I can’t say that the last year or so wasn’t stressful for me. Coming downstairs to check if she was breathing. The UTIs and in the last month, pneumonia. The dog meds were incredibly expensive, as were the fees for the tests. As I shed pills, she accumulated them.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUZUKxdePuexMxTH7k411E3VfYKBYu6L1epGVd9omNe_oEc30J9svXmo5ecV85u26wkxxHyMvpakXFs-VIaPkF89xxKaG8RPSyQBMM2EI3RYOfmm6Y2_1ITO2JkdSZi3XQ260RdIpqDx6T2kSqTP6FALOI54MdzkmdB3Kw2Ixzgye_g-rRCH72ITG/s3325/2E875FE9-9AB7-4DCC-8D8C-AB5A6D06457F_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3325" data-original-width="2559" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUZUKxdePuexMxTH7k411E3VfYKBYu6L1epGVd9omNe_oEc30J9svXmo5ecV85u26wkxxHyMvpakXFs-VIaPkF89xxKaG8RPSyQBMM2EI3RYOfmm6Y2_1ITO2JkdSZi3XQ260RdIpqDx6T2kSqTP6FALOI54MdzkmdB3Kw2Ixzgye_g-rRCH72ITG/s320/2E875FE9-9AB7-4DCC-8D8C-AB5A6D06457F_1_201_a.jpeg" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Favorite toy</td></tr></tbody></table><br />She didn’t always greet me at the door like she had done her whole life. But mostly she did. She dissed all her toys except for the long skinny snowman. I sent photos to the kids of her snuggling with it, hooking her paw over it. For some reason, when she turned 14, she started barking. I wrote a story for un upcoming issue of AKC’s Family Dog Magazine about how, with the help of a trainer, I got her to stop.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>She was a “difficult child.” I remember writing a blog post, “Does anybody want a dog?” I complained at yoga. Erin, the teacher, said, “You love that dog.” Of course I grew to love her. She helped me recover from cancer. We helped her recover when she was hit by a car, <a href="http://viewer.zmags.com/publication/8596d038?mkt_tok=eyJpIjoiWlRFM05tTmlOVFV6T0dFMyIsInQiOiJ1b1RLeWY4eTNqZGgxZDJEVVozSDVUOHNmUXY2V0hcL1lkZ2Q3SEpNMjIzTGJRdXVQNk1cL1FMR3hrbUoxWlAyVEY2WkdZaFl5U1M5UERvUTFmcFRKZU9mc24xU3Rzc0VpNFZGMko4QVU1eFJkQTNVWitKZXMxekJMd2p1MTJqRmxjIn0%3D#/8596d038/27">a story that I wrote about </a>for AKC's Family Dog Magazine, which won an award for inspirational feature. </p><p>She wouldn’t stop getting up on the couch, so I put a special blanket in her spot in the corner. Then when she stopped jumping up on the couch, I wished she would do it again. When she couldn’t go upstairs anymore, I got her an extra downstairs bed. First thing in the morning when I came downstairs, I got down on the floor and gave her a body hug. She put her paw over my arm. </p><p><br /></p><p>In the past year, as I was weaning off some of my meds, she was adding on. I asked at the vet what happens with a dog like this, and she said that one day, they aren’t able to get up. </p><p><br /></p><p>It didn’t happen that way. First, the possible ways that I jinxed it. (Take this with a “grain of salt.”) I hadn’t wanted to put her through going to the groomer, so I hadn’t done it for a while, but her coat had gotten so full of dander that I took her. I kept buying small bags of dog bones because I figured she couldn’t possibly live long enough to go through a big bag. Then I figured that this was silly and got her a big bag. </p><p><br /></p><p>She had gone to her home-away-from-home at Jim and Jane’s when we went to Wellfleet for another fun family vacation at Diane and David’s. On Sunday, the day of my return, Jane called and texted to say come back as soon as possible, Maddie was sick. She thought it was another UTI. The next day when I took Maddie to the vet, there was some confusion. The vet who saw her said it was a UTI and to stop her pneumonia meds. The vet who prescribed said meds said it was not a UTI and don’t stop the meds. An ultrasound found something strange, a possible “foreign object” stuck in her digestive tract. They tried to fill her with fluids to flush it out, and when this was not successful, they said to take her to what they call VESH, aka the emergency vet in Deerfield, aka Veterinary Emergency & Specialty Hospital, where they had saved her when she was hit by a car as a puppy. She stayed the night.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXZwfTPyu0BICzjUFfDJlqI3vud7t_hTtiRImyLvTH06OHnC4VD0MB1KvxiOLi7dci7yVtr9osDwtkcDjLVWIuv6izb0Kt0Ii3slJT829fs3ARaWn9ZgtIM-o57Hm8ed6cDhsEbpVW7PG86LKOCwcxC7mkhfKceCgCpikIvHYTpYNjVlXeI0RMD0b/s4032/C340013B-D5B3-478B-B9B9-1A77B53DABAB.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXZwfTPyu0BICzjUFfDJlqI3vud7t_hTtiRImyLvTH06OHnC4VD0MB1KvxiOLi7dci7yVtr9osDwtkcDjLVWIuv6izb0Kt0Ii3slJT829fs3ARaWn9ZgtIM-o57Hm8ed6cDhsEbpVW7PG86LKOCwcxC7mkhfKceCgCpikIvHYTpYNjVlXeI0RMD0b/s320/C340013B-D5B3-478B-B9B9-1A77B53DABAB.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will you get this off of me?</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The next day, a surgeon called me to say that she would need surgery to get “it” out. She was so full of gas that they could not see what “it” was, by the way. I had half an hour to decide. I cried. I wasn’t ready to go up to Deerfield to put her down. Maybe I should have, because she was already past her life expectancy. It would cost $5,000, on top of the approximately $3,000 in tests over the past several days. I didn’t even have time to consult with my vet. She was 15.5 years old. Was I really going to put her through surgery? The vet said that after a couple of weeks of recovery, she could be back to where she was. I talked to the kids. They said they knew me well enough to know that I would second guess if I didn’t do it.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>They did the surgery. It wasn’t what they thought. In non-medical terms, her colon was messed up. The next morning when I talked to the doctor, he said her colon had twisted, then untwisted, and he had done a resection. The recovery would now be more complicated. More dire though, something bad had caused it. Probably something like cancer. She would need more tests. She was having trouble standing up. If I took her home, she would have at least four weeks of diarrhea. Just as my first thought the day before was that I couldn’t put her down, my thought that day was that I would have to. Jeff came with me</p><p>They brought her into a room where we waited. She looked OK. I told her all the friends she would see in Heaven. "You'll see Sam, and Simon, and Winnie, and Misty," I said through the tears. I realized as I write this that I didn't say she would see Charlie, the Golden who attacked me. I guess I can be forgiven.</p><p>For the past year or so, when I looked at her lying in a patch of sunlight on the rug, it was like watching Sam on the blue living room rug, in his spot near the window. Was Sam still breathing? Was she? It seemed both like she could die any day and that she would never die. I didn’t put it on Facebook, but by writing on NextDoor that I was looking for ideas on what to do with her beds, it had almost the same effect. (Someone told me, correctly, that I could take them to Dakin, the Humane Society animal shelter in Springfield. I have packed them up and that’s what I’m going to do.) People have been so kind, sending me flowers and cards and feeding me cake. It is so strange to come home to a quiet house. I cried so much that I had to gasp for air. It stops and starts and stops again. She kept me company after the kids left. We have been alone together for a long time. I still think, when the sun starts to go down, that it is time to walk her. </p><p><br /></p><p>I found a pet loss support group through the Dakin website. The meeting was helpful. I am keeping busy though not sleeping as well as I usually do. Something about losing a dog makes me want to pull out weeds, or deadhead like I did with Simon. At tennis, George asked why I was playing so well. I said that maybe all the toxins had come out with the crying. Some people say to get another dog right away, some say not to get a “rebound dog,” and some say not to get one at all. I’m pretty sure that I will get a dog, though not right away. For some reason, it feels disloyal to do it too soon. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcgrIs48EJHhPs0hmuu5ty9x0s5x2fItBWkCw4WTcaF012ktebEOQQgMMdM2h6-FGHAWUfXPHZ47bjSXu8EqF6Y23xXHCzwDEVEqYNAWa7yuH4uauy9XtuRc4mN1OaLCg_cN1G4GUb_bjNBednpNaB1236qsr_XBJQTisKjAhziJhK_qgF6FA1JhJ/s3190/815E2BA6-B36D-4C90-92EF-70FACEAC43FD_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2394" data-original-width="3190" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcgrIs48EJHhPs0hmuu5ty9x0s5x2fItBWkCw4WTcaF012ktebEOQQgMMdM2h6-FGHAWUfXPHZ47bjSXu8EqF6Y23xXHCzwDEVEqYNAWa7yuH4uauy9XtuRc4mN1OaLCg_cN1G4GUb_bjNBednpNaB1236qsr_XBJQTisKjAhziJhK_qgF6FA1JhJ/w479-h359/815E2BA6-B36D-4C90-92EF-70FACEAC43FD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="479" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael Gordon photo/Family Dog Magazine story</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-23177465783170544932022-04-09T07:48:00.003-07:002022-04-09T07:50:01.847-07:00More fun with fingernails, and why injections were not as bad as I feared<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGn73k-hQeQiNZOa3Mqqxj-WHfy7Gxu4ZiF7Qidd62MyXNqYlkO38sQJmGaE7KF53pHUOrAbvCzqBJitfHLeBmByxx8fELqkL59vasyT1VyKHYfXdZ8kCBQTjINkLv47zLErjdyKE_T2-7CB8L9Ov2Z1bG1JdbWjs9PZ_uDm-S48bu32KOugVVcQV4/s2921/F7C7A362-6F82-4F96-8479-E0771ED9F00B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2921" data-original-width="2390" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGn73k-hQeQiNZOa3Mqqxj-WHfy7Gxu4ZiF7Qidd62MyXNqYlkO38sQJmGaE7KF53pHUOrAbvCzqBJitfHLeBmByxx8fELqkL59vasyT1VyKHYfXdZ8kCBQTjINkLv47zLErjdyKE_T2-7CB8L9Ov2Z1bG1JdbWjs9PZ_uDm-S48bu32KOugVVcQV4/s320/F7C7A362-6F82-4F96-8479-E0771ED9F00B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="262" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: medium;">I wouldn't want to say that a bone marrow biopsy can prepare you for anything, but when it comes to pain and discomfort, it's right up there. I tried to keep that in mind when I went to Worcester to get the steroid injections in my fingers a couple of weeks ago. I thought she was going to do it in my cuticles. Somehow that idea was more freaky to me than what the dermatologist actually did – injections BELOW the cuticle, in the top joint of my finger.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I asked if this was a series, and if she was going to do it in every finger even though not all were involved, i.e. disintegrating. The answer was yes (a month apart) and yes (for now).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To recap, the problem seems to stem from <a href="https://www.jaad.org/article/S0190-9622(10)01486-6/fulltext#:~:text=Graft%2Dversus%2Dhost%20disease%20(,alopecia%2C%20and%20impairment%20of%20sweating.">graft vs. host disease of the fingernail.</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She's the only dermatologist who has used a freezing spray. It works well. I had read somewhere that doctors use a nerve block first. She said that would be worse than the injection itself. So she sprayed a little on each finger. The injection in each finger was quick. Just one sharp sting in each. They were bleeding, so she bandaged each one. I decided my hands looked like Nadal's when he tapes his fingers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Someone had asked if I would have trouble driving, and the answer is no I didn't. I headed over to Margaret and Nick's for dinner. Always nice to integrate a visit with good friends, for good food and good company, into the medical appointments. Or with Diane and David for the same. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then the next day to a different dermatologist to look at some spots, with directions to do the usual, treat my hands for five days with a combination of chemo cream, Efudex, and Calcipotriol, which you can do for a shorter time (five days) than just the Efudex. I don't know why I find it so annoying. Well yes, I do. It's a process. One tube has a top that doesn't fit on well, and it oozes all over the place. Put on gloves. Hands sweat. Take them off (the gloves, not the hands) in the middle of the night, without realizing it, along the lines of the days when I slept in rollers and pulled them out in the middle of the night.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Another nail, well, actually half a nail, turned so thin it was like tissue paper. The tissue paper part came off. Well, I helped it off. I hope the steroid injections help the part that is growing in to grow in properly. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I asked if anyone did this closer to where I live. She said that she and another specialist in Providence are the only ones who do it around here. I don't actually mind. Worcester isn't too far. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am more annoyed by the problem on my nose. I wrote about <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/skin-cancer-nose-scars">that one here.</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But hey, these things are fixable, and a lot of things aren't. </span></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-65767563406137108472022-03-19T16:55:00.003-07:002022-03-19T16:58:32.567-07:00Unexpected but predictable nightmares<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3iYOSH-IqoI3hBiYcIuj3Sa9W0jFd8DKNaQT4kvBTVkSG-kic05qD_77R1kX20mv4NJt315AnJrpXS_6Osz639xuLnGlGSRQEzelm2jPXyppW7jiFpGTifJoyzoHAiImyaKnDrCH59_I5e0mrtL1ytpdFk27uxq5CG-1exKz8ERsR8-NxDR6AM8sh=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3iYOSH-IqoI3hBiYcIuj3Sa9W0jFd8DKNaQT4kvBTVkSG-kic05qD_77R1kX20mv4NJt315AnJrpXS_6Osz639xuLnGlGSRQEzelm2jPXyppW7jiFpGTifJoyzoHAiImyaKnDrCH59_I5e0mrtL1ytpdFk27uxq5CG-1exKz8ERsR8-NxDR6AM8sh=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning meds</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <span style="font-size: medium;">I was sure that after my first (very exciting) time back at the movies the other day , I would have nightmares about the difficult topics and tragedies shown in the Oscar-nominated<a href="https://www.indiewire.com/2022/02/oscars-2022-best-live-action-shorts-1234702321/"> Live Action Shorts</a>, which I saw at the Amherst Cinema. In the Before Times, I enjoyed seeing all of these shorts (three of them, including animated and documentary), and plan to see the other two. I had asked friends who went to the movies if they felt safe, and they said yes, there was nobody there. Sure enough, it was an audience of five, all of whom had to show proof of vaccination and wear a mask. I hope the Amherst Cinema can stay in business. I made a donation according to my means...which is not a lot. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But my self-conscious is so myopic. I had a nightmare about my pills and my <a href="https://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2022/03/coming-soon-steroid-injections-in-my.html">disintegrating fingernails. </a>Or maybe that's just the way the brain works.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blood-cancer.com/living/pills-everywhere">I wrote about </a>all the pills I take. The Valtrex is one big horse pill. Once time I choked on it and was alone and thought I was going to die. It was stuck in my throat, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I live close to the fire station. I don't know what I was thinking, but I ran to the door and thought of running down the street to the fire station. Then suddenly it went down. Now that I have been off prednisone for a while, maybe I can stop it or cut down.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Interestingly (OK in journalism you don't use that word because your words are supposed to be interesting and you shouldn't point it out to the reader but it's my blog), I was just listening to Terry Gross interview a doctor, Dr. Jonathan Reisman, who wrote a book, <a href="https://www.publicradiotulsa.org/npr-national-news/2022-03-16/a-doctor-reveals-the-hidden-wonders-of-the-human-body?_amp=true">"The Unseen Body."</a> Each chapter is about a specific body part or body fluid from his perspective as a doctor. He was talking about what he called the "fairly stupid" design of the throat, like so: </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Specifically, the throat has to take food, drink saliva, other things that we mean to swallow and make sure they go into the one tube, the esophagus, the food tube, which goes down to the stomach. The tube right next to the esophagus, literally millimeters away, is the windpipe, which goes down to the lungs. And every single time something passes through the throat, its most important job is to make sure that that - whatever it is besides air does not go down the windpipe... If you try to talk while swallowing just once or laugh with your mouth full, as we all know, sadly, you know, you can aspirate, choke and die just from one little slip up."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, I haven't choked on food, knock wood, but I am always choking on my water or whatever else I'm drinking. For someone who eats ridiculously slowly, I seem to INHALE my water rather quickly. In any case, I dreamt I was choking on a big pill as was the case in real life.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As for my fingernail nightmare, I dreamt that someone looked at the finger without the nail and said, "EEEEUU," or however you would spell the expression of someone saying something is gross.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Back to waking life, another nail is partially off. Someone asked how many are involved, and I counted six. The steroid injections in my cuticles are scheduled for Wednesday in Worcester. I can't exactly say I'm looking forward to it but I am looking forward to getting something done about it.</span></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-54035147187689354812022-03-04T19:35:00.002-08:002022-03-05T19:44:49.923-08:00Coming soon: Steroid injections in my cuticles<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimp83TZHks-UKsrGy8pqYKh91Kk6-nG6LwLFVpvfAzlV_1yA1of9SsZy4XdqNOu5elcJDIqgeD4rejGvvGCpY7wqbNxlz3TfKU5sjhV0u3iOWjZ-PoKdlrwwzykM-nO6LmXfl983jUZnd2ZOXcb4s7LA5Dc4aSoEX3MvM4QXXUi4MiDj3T0FFtuquJ=s4032" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimp83TZHks-UKsrGy8pqYKh91Kk6-nG6LwLFVpvfAzlV_1yA1of9SsZy4XdqNOu5elcJDIqgeD4rejGvvGCpY7wqbNxlz3TfKU5sjhV0u3iOWjZ-PoKdlrwwzykM-nO6LmXfl983jUZnd2ZOXcb4s7LA5Dc4aSoEX3MvM4QXXUi4MiDj3T0FFtuquJ=s320" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />If you know me at all, you know I like to do things differently. There were the three Caesareans and the four stem cell transplants, the coma followed by the "your mom might not make it through the night" event, the three-plus months in the hospital, incidental discovery of kidney lesion, and the graft vs. host disease of the skin, requiring a couple of years of my blood getting taken out, zapped with radiation and put back in, a.k.a. extracorporeal photopheresis for graft vs. host of the skin, or ECP, the fall on my head when I was running around the lake and the fall on my head two weeks later when I fell off my bike...</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, those are just some of the things...</span></p><p>The ECP wasn't that unusual though unusual to me when I first heard that I needed it to fix parts of my skin that were hardening and getting lumpy and bumpy. I had weaned to every three weeks after starting by doing it every two weeks at the Kraft Family Blood Donor Center at Dana-Farber/Brigham and Women's. Maybe I did it for two years. I have to admit I lost track. I was going to keep cutting back but had to stop abruptly when the pandemic started. My skin stayed OK though, even though I went off prednisone after being on it for 12 years, as I described in <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/prednisone-and-skin-cancer">this post. </a></p><p>I was on such a small amount, 1 milligram, that going off it does not seem to be a cause of a new crazy thing: MY FINGERNAILS ARE FALLING OFF!</p><p>Just had to put that in caps...</p><p>OK, so, it's just one fingernail that fell off. OK, so I helped it off. It turned white, a sign, my fingernail specialist dermatologist said, that the nail had died. It was loose like a baby tooth, and I wiggled it off. Katie gave me a princess bandage so I could cover it up.</p><p>Half of my fingernails are OK, But the others are discolored and ridged. </p><p>A fingernail biopsy showed that I have <a href="https://www.jaad.org/article/S0190-9622(10)01486-6/fulltext#:~:text=Cutaneous%20GVHD%20is%20characterized%20by,been%20rarely%20mentioned%20in%20literature.">GVHD of the fingernail</a>, or more precisely, fingernails. Yes that is a thing. </p><p>At the end of this month, I have an appointment in Worcester with a dermatologist who specializes in diseases of the nail. She is going to give me steroid injections in my cuticles. On the bright side, she is lovely, as I <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/fingernail-biopsy-calm">explained here</a>. </p><p>Enough of that for now at least.</p><p>I am not sure if I mentioned that I got the fourth shot that immune compromised people could get. That became my booster, and the first three became me original series, or something like that. Same as when I got my 1st booster a little early, I didn't have to do anything other than answer yes, when I signed up, to the question of was immunocompromised. Moving off the health topics...</p><p>It has been nice to have some people over for coffee with the COVID situation easing. </p><p>One of the friends brought me cheerful flowers that have been cheering me up.</p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-34947299689217960532022-01-30T09:43:00.005-08:002022-01-31T12:14:18.537-08:00My skin is a mess and my dog was sick all over the place but I made it to another re-birthday<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSAH8BUMNIt1RqyC0rEdbR9t9MfAo9vKEgKfzfB5fhQHpbpR1IBPHdNXHWnE3ouXGo_O2yJ1y283Ei2HYq8ZlNVU66s2FiNnv2SUX1vz_a717nywHSFCHwpVdxFb-Z8TJZJMszyStAMgIa6G-Bl2tFigahEpWe9KoVn8yCTRJGL3Ma4HitTcld2EVF=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSAH8BUMNIt1RqyC0rEdbR9t9MfAo9vKEgKfzfB5fhQHpbpR1IBPHdNXHWnE3ouXGo_O2yJ1y283Ei2HYq8ZlNVU66s2FiNnv2SUX1vz_a717nywHSFCHwpVdxFb-Z8TJZJMszyStAMgIa6G-Bl2tFigahEpWe9KoVn8yCTRJGL3Ma4HitTcld2EVF=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is before the anesthesia wore off</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Maddie and I have both had a hard few weeks. I had a biopsy on my thumb, making it hard to write, but it quickly healed and turned out to be a tiny squamous cell carcinoma that could be treated with the chemo cream combination that I use. Harder still was the next week's biopsy on a fingernail on my left hand. My fingernails have turned a gross combination of purple and white, and ridged) white where the nail has died) and the nail specialist in Worcester doesn't know what to make of it. The biopsy itself didn't hurt but it really kills now. A friend said that makes sense because the finger is the part of the body most sensitive to pain.<p></p><p>The results of the fingernail biopsy were...drumroll...inconclusive. Either a flare of graft vs. host disease, which might make sense because I finally <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/prednisone-and-skin-cancer">got off prednisone</a>, or something called lichen planus. I have an appointment on Wednesday with the fingernail dermatologist and one the next day in Boston with my regular dermatologist. So we shall see. </p><p>I really thought Maddie was in her final days. She stopped eating for three whole days. She also had diarrhea and was vomiting. I took her to the vet. The vet did (very expensive) bloodwork and nothing turned up. I couldn't get a stool sample. I tried everything to get her to eat, and she wouldn't even eat a tiny dog treat. The vet gave her a probiotic, antibiotic, and prescription canned dog food. She is almost 15, and I thought I should tell the appropriate people it was time to say goodbye. I shed some tears.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMONQFS7muzvIuTlNOhWV2579XIVId01EV-6nJAZSfTmRIV5nvyjFImeZTIp8izWb17s5-dxT1g9-UEAKmmZ_I2Krn8vvROqF35i26qz3_oRFiVdoKmqhfbJxnUkesyt9KrQIoHTaTdCik6KQtADwNqRNE5UHLaY0QSh2gVqkT2EpCMcjKSpVA4Bnk=s4032" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMONQFS7muzvIuTlNOhWV2579XIVId01EV-6nJAZSfTmRIV5nvyjFImeZTIp8izWb17s5-dxT1g9-UEAKmmZ_I2Krn8vvROqF35i26qz3_oRFiVdoKmqhfbJxnUkesyt9KrQIoHTaTdCik6KQtADwNqRNE5UHLaY0QSh2gVqkT2EpCMcjKSpVA4Bnk=w227-h302" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Give me more food! </td></tr></tbody></table><br />Yet she didn't seem sick. She was drinking and walking. I called the vet to bring her in again and the person on the phone said to try something I hadn't thought of : microwave the food so that the yummy smell might interest her. I microwaved it and put it on my mother's china and put it under nose. And she ate! Now she doesn't want to stop eating. That canned stuff is like doggy cocaine. I am trying to ease in some bland dry food but I don't think I will totally stop the canned food. It has really perked her up. Previously we were able to make it down to the lake (slowly); when she got there, she perked up because there is so much to smell. Now she is even more lively on our walks, especially with Deborah and her two Labs. Her coat even looks better.<div><br /></div><div>A few years ago, someone at a party (in the Before Times) told me with a dog that old, I was living on borrowed time. It was unnecessary... I knew how old she was then and I know how old she is now. But still...<br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>BURIED LEDE:</p><p>Today is my 13th re-birthday. It is hard to believe for sure. Thirteen is a lucky number for me. Ben was born on the 13th (of September). I am grateful for Denise, my donor, first and foremost. And for Dana-Farber and the whole rest of the crew who put up with me and helped me get to this point.</p><p> Some people will know that this all started in 2003 with my acute myeloid leukemia diagnosis and spanned two relapses and three transplants before the last one. (Note : Here's why I <a href="https://blood-cancer.com/living/battle-metaphors">don't call it a journey</a> though I still don't have an appropriate name for it.)</p><p>On Jan. 31st, 2009, I described what I called <a href="https://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2009/01/">the momentous occasion</a> and concluded: "Diane brought me a birthday present yesterday: a card with a pop-up bouquet and a bag filled with the other kind of product that I now need after my transplant. It contained shampoo, conditioner, lotion, body wash and lip gloss, all in pretty perk-me-up colors. (After transplant, you’re supposed to start with everything clean and new and throw out old products.) On the card, she wrote, “Here’s to a wonderful and healthy life with your new mystery donor!”</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj93nIhJnfs6i9eIPfRrn_gOqPqR5LcbsyuxW6NdPYKIGhzV3k_zFajW2slKp3p5Ds_itcpNgKTsBy0pgSUJ8BfAIoEvAQlyG9aFgHuGX10T1EHg4jwaufQLUg6Tb1ojIgFz_hs_ezSQP1acYyDwqTvypgHRRqQKRH3doqSGVLqmw1pmE1bihzJasUr=s3476" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3476" data-original-width="2353" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj93nIhJnfs6i9eIPfRrn_gOqPqR5LcbsyuxW6NdPYKIGhzV3k_zFajW2slKp3p5Ds_itcpNgKTsBy0pgSUJ8BfAIoEvAQlyG9aFgHuGX10T1EHg4jwaufQLUg6Tb1ojIgFz_hs_ezSQP1acYyDwqTvypgHRRqQKRH3doqSGVLqmw1pmE1bihzJasUr=s320" width="217" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday treat today!</td></tr></tbody></table>Last night, as the evening weirdness settled in on me, Diane reminded me, “You’re getting another shot at a whole new life. It’s great. It’s the miracle of modern science.”<p></p><p>It’s wonderful to have a baby sister who anticipates my every need, who picks me up and who washes, folds and delivers my laundry with a smile.</p><p>Thank you everyone for your support – your thoughts, prayers, comments, good vibes, messages, calls, visits and cards really mean a lot to me. "</p><p>Ditto on the thanks!</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyyojruPaP3g2N66Ol4MiMwlnEpMUujhCImu9Rf497_z29tzyeYOqAjTNQ48lhGImMI3dkdBq9MgShZz3UUifUkZhrqI7tcGkmP1kM5ppEXw69YVQ_OcV0vRmtMXGVnLSFhKGCfR7x-blH0eZ4FK_3M8tGCDzBQ49wZkkWuKtETjC-48up3zlgUcgu=s3088"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyyojruPaP3g2N66Ol4MiMwlnEpMUujhCImu9Rf497_z29tzyeYOqAjTNQ48lhGImMI3dkdBq9MgShZz3UUifUkZhrqI7tcGkmP1kM5ppEXw69YVQ_OcV0vRmtMXGVnLSFhKGCfR7x-blH0eZ4FK_3M8tGCDzBQ49wZkkWuKtETjC-48up3zlgUcgu=w200-h150" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><br /><br /><p><br /></p></div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-30688026473506954052022-01-01T09:15:00.000-08:002022-01-01T09:15:06.903-08:00Thoughts on the New Year <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY6wnAyLyDLH_kuJQqmWIPdg3mwNsw6YukeiNDKoZKXeGOnSs02YuKllWmUAejprKu9XhX4HnB1jOzfuApsCvwGGtApmAq_hdNBe9AdinkBiry4JcqMo4IkicuMjHBKWp8nreNSOYr1s02pZviKS2hjWo0oFnLUkGL5PNVH9nRrBeQVyBM_Ye7AWo6=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY6wnAyLyDLH_kuJQqmWIPdg3mwNsw6YukeiNDKoZKXeGOnSs02YuKllWmUAejprKu9XhX4HnB1jOzfuApsCvwGGtApmAq_hdNBe9AdinkBiry4JcqMo4IkicuMjHBKWp8nreNSOYr1s02pZviKS2hjWo0oFnLUkGL5PNVH9nRrBeQVyBM_Ye7AWo6=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br />I almost forgot how to start a new post. At the Canoe Club on a beautiful day back in the summer, Donna said don’t stop the blog. I have to do what she says, as in “yours” in tennis, but I am only kidding about that and am giving it a try. <div><br /></div><div>Funny how things work out. <div><br /></div><div>I started this way back when Delta got worse, school for Nell was going to start, and Ben understandably didn’t want to take a chance with Cape trip #2. Joe also couldn’t come. So although we missed them, Diane, David, Katie and I had a lovely weekend. We went on the boat, which we might not have done if the whole crew was there. </div><div><br /></div><div> My nose continues to be a pain. I had a skin cancer removed from the top of my head, and while I was lying there, at the Mohs Surgery Center in Jamaica Plain, the doctor said it (my nose) could use some dermabrasion and went after it with a sand papery thing. Now I am dealing with THAT healing. To finish it off, I apparently need laser. At 7 a.m. in Boston. At least I can get a little something out of these things. I wrote about how hard it is to bandage your nose, like so: <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/bandaging-nose">Nose bandaging not my speciality.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>It's funny, not ha ha funny, just strange, that as a blood cancer survivor I deal mostly with skin cancer, which I <a href="https://skincancer.net/community/communityadvocates/ronni-gordon">write about here.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was also hard to bandage a wound on my head, as you can imagine. Boyfriend rigged something up with gauze, tape, and three hair clips.
Donna and I made it to the US Open. That seems like so long ago. There was no bus, so I drove. Highlight of the drive might have been the pit stop on a sloping bank alongside the river just before we hit the Whitestone Bridge. Only kidding, I think. We navigated the grounds like pros, unlike in our first year, and saw women’s doubles up close, as well as men’s singles and a short trip to our nosebleed seats in Ashe, all the while juggling our Honey Deuce cocktail in the souvenir glass with the winners on it.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmHetAZH0D5isIiy-UKqwTcpq0Ksay18eMYsGp59U2Mpx90vhyN8uRWpttShibHgSoUgJ8wFThRAC8sNrNG3sk3nzLqc3fppBck_iCM1bKXhPTCEe6PlX6vb8QeBG1ChjbZzjFiSgf_Dat5Sp8JtgUuyUp8m6AjEASSaemGJPjK4MD4SP8ZBDoz294=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmHetAZH0D5isIiy-UKqwTcpq0Ksay18eMYsGp59U2Mpx90vhyN8uRWpttShibHgSoUgJ8wFThRAC8sNrNG3sk3nzLqc3fppBck_iCM1bKXhPTCEe6PlX6vb8QeBG1ChjbZzjFiSgf_Dat5Sp8JtgUuyUp8m6AjEASSaemGJPjK4MD4SP8ZBDoz294=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><br />I did the <a href="https://p2p.onecause.com/hcr2021">Hot Chocolate Run for Safe Passage </a>with my friend Amy Willard. We chatted most of the way and didn't do it for time. It was great to be with a group of runners again. Since it was outside, I wasn't worried about the virus. We kept our masks on except for the photo. It is so fun and festive and for a great cause.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I waited so long to finish this that now we are dealing with Omicron. I won't go backwards on some things, such as playing tennis indoors, which I wouldn't do last year when unvaccinated. Though I have to say that after having no problems playing all summer on the clay, my feet and to some little extent my right knee, are speaking to me with all of this playing on hard courts in Enfield and (still outside the other day in the cold) on the hard courts at the Canoe Club. </div><div><br /></div><div>On New Year's Day it is hard to know what to make of things. Someone I know asked on Twitter how it was possible to be optimistic about the coming year, what with climate change, the virus, and the anti-vaxxers giving the plague new ways of spreading. I agree that it is hard and infuriating. It is hard not to get my blood pressure up, when they parade around with signs along the lines of "don't tell me what to do with my body" yet will turn around and tell a woman what to do with her body. Big sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWlJLbNyXiuC0djrIRYxLA5tP_IckQl-R20So1LElgJGWRZ-vVDUrn9Z8cvk28QS0xYR_arUBlIO3231T6g4pdfQ3cGavuOZaZ8zhl1y8xrVOLgrOZyvzN1cXOoahNirna3HuUatmoGQ2kN52Q6hbLRqrNb5iWjJ6gEyhnVffUZYl_ChyjaGsBKv07=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWlJLbNyXiuC0djrIRYxLA5tP_IckQl-R20So1LElgJGWRZ-vVDUrn9Z8cvk28QS0xYR_arUBlIO3231T6g4pdfQ3cGavuOZaZ8zhl1y8xrVOLgrOZyvzN1cXOoahNirna3HuUatmoGQ2kN52Q6hbLRqrNb5iWjJ6gEyhnVffUZYl_ChyjaGsBKv07=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />But as for the positive: This time last year, we didn't have the vaccine. I couldn't let anyone in my house, and even when walking outside with Katie, I had to be careful not to wander into her pathway, as I am wont to do. This time last year, the grandkids couldn't have visited as they did the other day. We wouldn't have been able to play with the toys that I held onto from when my kids were young. We couldn't have had lunch. We might still have been able to take the "nature walk" that we took over at the college, but then we wouldn't have been able to come in and have hot chocolate and cookies.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the old days back at the paper (s), I might not have interviewed my friends, but my sister/friend Margaret fit so will into the <a href="https://www.nextavenue.org/pandemic-pivots/">theme of pandemic pivots,</a> which I wrote about for PBS's Next Avenue, that I had to feature her. I was honored that she used the photo on her Christmas card. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maddie is almost 15. I remember when our dog Sam was this old and would be sleeping in the pool of light beneath the living room window, on the blue carpet, and we would check to see if he was breathing. Now I check her that way. She has mostly stopped playing with her toys but she really likes this snowman that Jane gave her for Christmas. As always, she seems annoyed when I take her photo. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBq1R8TZMCMc8rf_mDU2lI2D_NEtsPfFkSDdYPiB2XE5BGnZ1cF2OTl0O2nVBxBNGVEYwDGo6_5exAgHSVypxzWtZCUDIJYV4umKRG24Ty6BzDTfevcF_7c9f7-slGrSq-2RKwxdhs9wvcELQMQU4bRU-3jt6Zku0kiztdT8Pp6MP8EffqPiNIL56c=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBq1R8TZMCMc8rf_mDU2lI2D_NEtsPfFkSDdYPiB2XE5BGnZ1cF2OTl0O2nVBxBNGVEYwDGo6_5exAgHSVypxzWtZCUDIJYV4umKRG24Ty6BzDTfevcF_7c9f7-slGrSq-2RKwxdhs9wvcELQMQU4bRU-3jt6Zku0kiztdT8Pp6MP8EffqPiNIL56c=w238-h285" width="238" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-89856492041375352862021-08-07T04:38:00.001-07:002021-08-07T04:38:20.455-07:00I'm Still here!<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIRz0It_j_kH5gAvIBiMYexIx0-PWmwc94CN2oGqUGpwwpViJe3YEp4aCYz02Hmj26yrTQbLegm1cdQs1kLviuSQuNmYpi4_zQsDDm-yJIWQkWbasTVitd0Mw93qT81UzF3LQplJex0U/w300-h400/5A0F50BE-058D-4910-B2FA-FEC100235FE5.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big kid, little kids, on Wellfleet trip</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIRz0It_j_kH5gAvIBiMYexIx0-PWmwc94CN2oGqUGpwwpViJe3YEp4aCYz02Hmj26yrTQbLegm1cdQs1kLviuSQuNmYpi4_zQsDDm-yJIWQkWbasTVitd0Mw93qT81UzF3LQplJex0U/s2048/5A0F50BE-058D-4910-B2FA-FEC100235FE5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;">.</span></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't write for a long time because in the height of the pandemic, everything that I was going to say seemed so trite and trivial. As you can see, I did it for a while, and then it was all I could do to concentrate on my paid writing. I was used to doing it out of the house, inspired by the coffee shop noise that due to my newsroom years makes me concentrate better than I do at home. But I'm not complaining, because I was privileged to be able to stay at home. In any case, for</span><span style="font-size: large;"> the handful of people still checking in, I should say that I'm still alive! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I realized also that for my personal reference, the blog is a good resource. For example, in thinking about possibly going to the US Open, I looked up what happened last year and found this post about the magical qualities of my <a href="https://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2020/09/">Nike tennis skirt. </a>It helped me remember what was going on at the time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Also it turned out that I am a resource for others. For example, in the spring, I got this message: "Hi Ronni! My name is Lane - I found your number off of your website. This is a little bit random, but I am trying to track down the bench books in Wellfleet. My friends and I came there 6 years ago and wrote some entries, and when returning a few years later hoping to read our messages, the book we had written in was gone. We are coming back this week for another reunion and are determined to find where they are stored. I found your blog post which noted that they are maintained by a local resident. I was wondering if you had any information on who it was? Thank you so much in advance for any info you might have! " They had googled bench book, which is at one of my favorite places in Wellfleet, overlooking Duck Harbor, and found an entry on my blog, <a href="https://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2012/08/wonderful-wellfleet.html">maybe this one.</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One thing led to another, and it's kind of convoluted, but they did find the keeper of the book, with some info that I gave them as a starting point. He texted that they were students at Carnegie Mellon University, in Pittsburgh, and I replied that I had just interviewed a professor from the school, for this story on <a href="https://www.nextavenue.org/pandemic-pivots/">pandemic pivots</a>, and he said they had taken a class with her. Hashtag small world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99vIucUW9rExrUkWkiwU7QPcj04kum0hmRzJ1SCIG8mmZpvt3l2N_pbhilQXjv0zH0q7TP5uxwnp8DTce4ru2nfpYunCSmZjUUf6tnnI5Cr-ISKuv2R4pA1SGoC48KLFD8ba1LMxCQRU/s2048/8892A59F-92DB-4C44-AC25-C376364A25DD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99vIucUW9rExrUkWkiwU7QPcj04kum0hmRzJ1SCIG8mmZpvt3l2N_pbhilQXjv0zH0q7TP5uxwnp8DTce4ru2nfpYunCSmZjUUf6tnnI5Cr-ISKuv2R4pA1SGoC48KLFD8ba1LMxCQRU/w240-h320/8892A59F-92DB-4C44-AC25-C376364A25DD.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzUwX4eE2if1RIHT0LOgdzVYyon0aRNqZgZpsJCVMwN-xQwIqleMyTLjNCKgCt18xx9jlJtwW191eB7_dz5cqVOFGez2LkVGpHUlnkviPX0A-rzEuFZ0eJ1B_c9X8yrEaJANwN7sBPhg/s2048/8ED2759C-797C-4220-9EAB-58B7142210DB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzUwX4eE2if1RIHT0LOgdzVYyon0aRNqZgZpsJCVMwN-xQwIqleMyTLjNCKgCt18xx9jlJtwW191eB7_dz5cqVOFGez2LkVGpHUlnkviPX0A-rzEuFZ0eJ1B_c9X8yrEaJANwN7sBPhg/s320/8ED2759C-797C-4220-9EAB-58B7142210DB.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />I have been doing the usual: jogging, playing tennis, dealing with skin cancer, doing yoga, writing... The skin cancer is actually not an aside like I just wrote it. I had one on my nose, a squamous cell as usual. I didn't think it would turn into such a big deal, but I ended up with 12 stitches on my nose. It was so hard to keep it bandaged. I needed help. Then I went to Boston to get the stitches out because I figured they knew best. But they left one stitch in, so I had to go to the local doctor anyway to get the stitch out. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I am also dealing with a senior dog (14.5 years old ) who didn't bark her whole life and who now seems to be getting it out of her system. My vet wants me to see a dog behaviorist . (Apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks.) I know what the problem is. She must have dementia because she wants to be with me but goes into another room and starts barking and seems to forget that all she has to do is stay in the same room. I gave in and made the appointment because who knows, I might get some tips. I have been putting her on a leash and going into the other room where she is, for example the dining room, and bringing her back into the kitchen with me. I try to stay calm, because I assume that if I raise my voice, she will think I'm barking at her. But I am only human, and if she is in the same room as me and starts barking, I do sometimes say STOP! More often, I go over and give her a pat or just look at her and wave hello.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I volunteered at a fabulous program, <a href="https://www.movingonupwithtennis.org/volunteer">Moving on Up With Tennis and Education,</a> which will be the topic of another post if I don't disappear again. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was so exciting to get some freedom and go to the Cape with the family and not worry about hugging. The little kids have the beach in Fairfield, but they seemed to be exhilarated by the waves at the ocean. There were enough waves for it to be exciting but not so many that it was hard for me to get in and out. (And no sharks.) So I went in also. I got on my back and floated like my mother used to do. I looked up at the blue sky with the white puffy clouds. I will admit that Katie had to help me out. We had a moment when I did a belly flop in the shallow water. "Don't yank on my arm!" I yelled, or something like that. We had a good laugh. I didn't drown. We walked on the beach to the other parking lot where the cars were. (Long parking story, maybe not that interesting.) It was almost a mile, but Nell and Callen did well. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36o56cM7VpeSBwW0_dLiRLnzW_52Iq15AK3JdkUF7uhkHBIN7vRVhBZsNoicXKcHCiQFiokfWezusdgkH4Qp1rUs9nG-nxnlsOCwltSqrUg9MoHxBrnqnBuAqb52gppExuH35PT-ZrNs/s2048/50A274E8-04B5-451F-9B1E-FC8EB51ED48E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Ferry fun" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36o56cM7VpeSBwW0_dLiRLnzW_52Iq15AK3JdkUF7uhkHBIN7vRVhBZsNoicXKcHCiQFiokfWezusdgkH4Qp1rUs9nG-nxnlsOCwltSqrUg9MoHxBrnqnBuAqb52gppExuH35PT-ZrNs/w150-h200/50A274E8-04B5-451F-9B1E-FC8EB51ED48E.jpeg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />I thought it was a bit of an overreach when Ben said he wanted to take the day ferry to Nantucket, have lunch at The Rose and Crown (an old haunt) walk around a little, and go back. But I was wrong. It was great. We drove approximately an hour to Hyannis, took the ferry that was only an hour as compared to the longer car ferry that we used to take, enjoyed lunch and walked a little and then went back. I told the kids about throwing a penny in the water as we left, as a sign that we would be back. We did it, so of course we'll have to go back. <br /></span><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5rloaShyphenhyphenCsNreLlErKeOWBa1IqbFxyoaknb3tpgZu3HpG9qEjFtehz9lukiGWI-b78-PG6nT3OitgTYkQNdv3WLZ4y-BvCd7M1CCIS5CmIFsKUyuO3UCEzLSPeH9BiM9MrPVGpzcCdI/s2048/DBCC6FFA-B434-4F87-84A7-B45BCEA6E6CF.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5rloaShyphenhyphenCsNreLlErKeOWBa1IqbFxyoaknb3tpgZu3HpG9qEjFtehz9lukiGWI-b78-PG6nT3OitgTYkQNdv3WLZ4y-BvCd7M1CCIS5CmIFsKUyuO3UCEzLSPeH9BiM9MrPVGpzcCdI/w150-h200/DBCC6FFA-B434-4F87-84A7-B45BCEA6E6CF.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Joe and Nell</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">Cape trip #2 is supposed to happen in a couple of weeks. Diane and David were away for the first one, and we have all been looking forward to getting everyone together. The taste of freedom was so liberating. And all those hugs. Now we are starting to worry about the Delta variant. I am back to wearing a mask in stores. I am back to wondering, what counts as "immunocompromised?" (Those are among the ones who might have greater complications.) Is it me? I don't know. I am still on one milligram of prednisone, which compromises my immune system somewhat. And the transplants themselves compromised my system...somewhat. But 12 years from my last transplant, (I wrote about <a href="https://blood-cancer.com/living/forget-birthday">forgetting my birthday</a>) , I am not immunocompromised like people undergoing treatment or right after it. I asked Melissa way back in the EPA (Early Pandemic Era.) She said my immune system is good but not perfect. We are still planning on going. Fingers and toes crossed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-33074167970158620692021-04-04T14:47:00.005-07:002021-04-04T14:50:31.901-07:002nd seder on Zoom and a sort of 10K<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktFPxc2j_rQpHHyFCfr4v365qvTHfGnb6abHBmYJIcoU6I2ut5OYQtoZ0b_vkYyG8lopKypdSivqSgEWIWxdYS300gID5GlVAMr99F9oo8H7Vlk6ZXAa6edgbmPPqRU10cGAD0IEmRHI/s903/6AE2C8BA-F6B0-46E8-BE90-61D85BDF752D_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktFPxc2j_rQpHHyFCfr4v365qvTHfGnb6abHBmYJIcoU6I2ut5OYQtoZ0b_vkYyG8lopKypdSivqSgEWIWxdYS300gID5GlVAMr99F9oo8H7Vlk6ZXAa6edgbmPPqRU10cGAD0IEmRHI/s320/6AE2C8BA-F6B0-46E8-BE90-61D85BDF752D_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></div><br />I ran a 10K!<p></p><p>No I didn't, but I looked at my mileage and it was 6.2 miles with a combination of dog walking, walking with a friend, and a few miles of jogging. </p><p>I was so excited after the second dose of the vaccine that I went for a run. I felt better the first couple of days after and then on the third felt a little off...Just that feeling that you are fighting the flu. Hopefully it's a good sign.</p><p>The other day I went jogging before the rain and ended up being passed by a young guy who was really kicking up his heels. He sped by me. Harumph, I thought. Then I thought, wait, he's a small fraction of my age and most likely hasn't had four stem cell transplants. And then also I don't think I ever had such good form. </p><p>Once I got home, the good old negative self-talk kicked in again. I know that a loop that I like, up the Park Street hill with the Mount Holyoke lake on the left and back down on Morgan Street and going a little past my house on the way back, is about three miles. I got back and checked my phone (no Apple watch for me) and saw 2.9 miles. WHAT? I thought it was three...Well I walked around the house for a minute and then it was three. </p><p>This is now and that was then...three miles isn't that bad and also better on my knee.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DcqlZCTNyfRXeGAQse6-cKoF6nSQETb4znnFIEygI0KSvdlFJMuB0K2sSShM_0pUwFE6GjYX-0fuKPlG1IjyyPWpRt6gZ9E63rdqo3ikBDBZOJSHHCqLMdSCnKSBWW_lu72ELGRdX2I/s671/Screen+Shot+2021-04-04+at+10.09.26+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="671" data-original-width="516" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DcqlZCTNyfRXeGAQse6-cKoF6nSQETb4znnFIEygI0KSvdlFJMuB0K2sSShM_0pUwFE6GjYX-0fuKPlG1IjyyPWpRt6gZ9E63rdqo3ikBDBZOJSHHCqLMdSCnKSBWW_lu72ELGRdX2I/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-04-04+at+10.09.26+AM.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nell at the Zoom seder</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Last year, after our Zoom seder, we wondered if the next year Passover would be in person. </p><p>Well, it wasn't. Thanks to Diane and David, though, we saw a lot of people, since their second Zoom seder had some 50 participants. The benefit is that you can have people in different time zones in the same place. The downside is that you can feel forlorn when "the meal is served" and everyone has disappeared. Last year, we got it together to all make dinner and eat together in our family Google Meet. This year for some reason none of us did. I got a chicken but didn't make it until later in the week. Boyfriend and I had leftovers by candlelight, and while he was heating things up I talked to Katie via FaceTime, since she shared my forlorn-ness. </p><p>Six of us with expertise in illness and recovery read a little something about what we had learned. I don't know why I was nervous about doing it; it was all friends and family. I get nervous though in even this little bit of public speaking. I could have declined when David asked me to do it, but I figured that if I could face leukemia multiple times, I could do a little reading. </p><p>Here's how I began it, with apologies to Joe and Diane:</p><p><i>I know a thing or two about how to not get out of a lockdown gracefully. For example, you don’t overestimate what you can do and you don’t get so flush with freedom that you go running and neglect to look where you’re going and trip over a root and crack your head. Then two weeks later you don’t forget that you are a little weak and get on a bike and fall off and crack your head again and get another concussion and stitches in the same eye that is still black and blue from the last time. </i></p><p><i>It’s hard to avoid the temptation to rush back to normalcy but my most successful results came from being more deliberate and focused</i>. </p><p>But I have to say that now that I am two weeks post my second vaccine, I want to plan more than one thing. I haven't done it yet. I got a ride in a friend's car, and that was the most exciting thing so far. It's going to take time to inch back into normal life. </p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-74756773518801471912021-03-16T14:57:00.004-07:002021-03-16T15:02:11.192-07:002nd shot in the arm and something growing on my nose<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLhoydhPnEfw5W2_6y1oZJKvjGJLn7YqNVC4d0NbiufjP5mx_MOWk76cGOOSriKasDI83sWNlrZfsQjnkqHRYvVpGLjA8uzUZMCKOgfwcM0fMyx4eT-uMT138M_O2RKzUjTZ42mP40L0/s2048/86A8E753-B784-4A23-A1F6-478D0769A87A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLhoydhPnEfw5W2_6y1oZJKvjGJLn7YqNVC4d0NbiufjP5mx_MOWk76cGOOSriKasDI83sWNlrZfsQjnkqHRYvVpGLjA8uzUZMCKOgfwcM0fMyx4eT-uMT138M_O2RKzUjTZ42mP40L0/s320/86A8E753-B784-4A23-A1F6-478D0769A87A.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wintry day at Ashley Reservoir</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I got my second shot today, yay! And on the same day, I found out that our beloved <a href="https://www.newsday.com/news/new-york/shakespeare-central-park-summer-2021-1.50184535">Shakespeare in the Park</a> is going to happen again this summer. So, things are definitely looking up.</p><p>I have a new doctor whom I have only met once. Here is <a href="https://blood-cancer.com/living/new-doctor/">something I wrote</a> about getting a new doctor. These changes make me think of my sweet friend Kelly and how devastated she was when her therapist left the area. Of course there was so much more to what caused her to take her life. But it is the last thing I remember her talking about. Sorry there is no transition to this next thing...</p><p>Medically, I mostly live in dermatology now. There is something on my nose, and it is making me cross-eyed. And no I did not tell a lie. </p><p>It goes like this. Dermatologist #1 biopsied it and said it was another squamous cell cancer and sent me to Mohs surgery. There, dermatologist #2 said it was not bad enough to do surgery on and said to apply the chemo cream combination. It almost went away, but not all the way. Dermatologist #3 said it should have been removed, because it is growing, and said I should go back to Mohs. YES I have that many dermatologists. Don't ask. Maybe some other time. </p><p>I sent a photo to dermatologist #2 at the Mohs surgery center. The person who took my info said she would get back to me. She got back to me and said to come in on April 21st. I said THE THING IS GROWING on my nose. She excused herself for a moment (I'm thinking of a car salesman coming back with a better deal) and said to come in on March 31st. She said the doctor probably wouldn't do Mohs but would get it off of my nose somehow. (Presumably a better way than having me pick it off.)</p><p>Dermatologist #3, who is really my first and number one dermatologist, said that was OK.</p><p>But I nicked it with a washcloth and now it is a little bit detached. I thought of calling to see if they have any cancellations before that, or, alternately, asking dermatologist #1, who biopsied it and who is easier to get an appointment with, if she could see me before.</p><p>They are all in Boston. Last night I dreamt that I called the Mohs office early in the morning and was surprised to hear the doctor herself answer the phone. She sounded sleepy. I said I was sorry. She didn't seem to mind. She gave me the phone number of a different doctor to call. I said I didn't recognize the number and asked if it was local. She didn't tell me. I couldn't read it that well. I tried to dial and had trouble with the phone. At first it was a rotary phone. Then it was a cell phone that I couldn't operate. </p><p>The old "can't dial the number frustration dream."</p><p>Well in any case, as I said, I still think things are looking up.</p><p>We took a nice walk around Ashley Reservoir. It was good to get out of the neighborhood, even if only to the next town over. I didn't even have much PTSD about the time I got lost when running my last Turkey Trot. </p><p>In a couple of more weeks, I should be good to go somewhere else. Maybe even into Ben and Meg's house to have real hugs with those cute little grandkids. </p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-77773219788952745472021-02-26T16:26:00.002-08:002021-02-26T16:39:08.657-08:00Of crashes in the snow and crashes of the vaccine website<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmXTvJ8GLhsXriElABB9BQJpNmLhh5n1_lKTMUPZsI_z44ZDpt8EjZ4WHW7TAd4cPDUW40rrdVAljzYuMINmgmQGsJWD3t8HHxDCroyJq-1ztvXTxXA1CbfAVMspZTFBSFz2ju8xMrmk/s2048/FullSizeRender.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmXTvJ8GLhsXriElABB9BQJpNmLhh5n1_lKTMUPZsI_z44ZDpt8EjZ4WHW7TAd4cPDUW40rrdVAljzYuMINmgmQGsJWD3t8HHxDCroyJq-1ztvXTxXA1CbfAVMspZTFBSFz2ju8xMrmk/w300-h400/FullSizeRender.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>This photo makes me look better than I actually looked in motion. I went twice and was thinking that I might try it again because the third time could be the charm.<p></p><p>I have gotten SO timid going down the tiniest little incline. We went to the golf course across the street. I used to go zooming down the hill and into the woods. (Ouch, when I wrote zoom it hurt me because I am so tired of it but also grateful for it, especially the Y yoga and exercise classes.) Now, to get to the flat part, when we went down on the other side with a slighter incline, I landed on my bum both times. Boyfriend had to take his skis off to lift me up. After yesterday's snow it is so pretty out that I told my friend I might want to do it one more time.</p><p>She asked why I would do that.</p><p>I said because I'm stubborn I guess. But then I thought better of it and realized I should stick with what's going well. That would be running, but I have to find the balance of doing enough so that it makes me feel good and doing so much that I hurt me knees.</p><p>I needed something after last Thursday's fight with the Massachusetts COVID vaccine site. What a mess. <a href="https://www.nbcboston.com/news/local/massachusetts-vaccination-website-crash-what-went-wrong/2307229/">It crashed</a> almost immediately when it opened up to about 1 million people at the same time. </p><p>I was looking forward to getting it from Dana-Farber, But they took it away from the hospitals to focus on bigger centers. At one point, people like me were at the top of this phase. Then the state moved those with two or more co-morbidities down to be with all of those 65 or older. It is too confusing to even explain. That was the group to which it opened up Thursday. </p><p>One person tweeted: "Using the Massachusetts vaccination website is like feverishly clicking on Ticketmaster with millions of other people, except instead of trying to see Beyoncé you're trying to keep parents alive in a pandemic."</p><p>The Washington Post had <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/health/2021/02/26/covid-vaccine-who-should-go-first/">an interesting and troubling story </a>about the problems that medically vulnerable people are having in getting the vaccine. </p><p>But wait, I buried the lede...</p><p>Just as I was giving up hope, Katie, who had been working on the vaccine effort with me, texted that she found me an appointment! Actually, her boyfriend found it for me. It was at The Eastfield Mall on Monday. It was at first hard to believe. I think the moral is that you need a millennial. I've heard other stories like this. </p><p>In any case, the night before, it was hard to sleep. I felt like I was going on a big trip the next day. Actually, going anywhere is a big trip. It wasn't very far, but it was a big step. </p><p>The date, 2/22, was memorable in my family. As Joe texted: "I know we didn’t exactly nail down the timeline but can say that 2/22/09 was the night we won our hockey championship and then went to see you, and doctors said they didn’t think you’d make it through the night. Not only did you make it, but here you are 12 years later going to experience another medical miracle!"</p><p>I got the Pfizer and am scheduled to go back for the second dose on March 16th. </p><p>It just so happens that if nothing else, the blog is a good memory jogger for me. I found this post, <a href="http://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2009/03/">I'm still here, </a>from March 11, 2009, in which I had typed up some of Diane's group emails. Diane did a great job! </p><p>She wrote this on 2/23: </p><p>The good news first: her white count is good and there are positive signs that the transplant part of what has happened has gone well.</p><p>On the other hand, she continues to have multiple complications – infections, fevers, problems with blood pressure, kidney failure, and GI bleeding… some of which is under control or being treated through dialysis or medications, and some that is being tested further.</p><p>We (Ben, Joe, Katie, Jim, and me) had a long meeting with the oncologist today. I wanted her children in particular to hear directly from the doctor what we are dealing with and what the treatment plans are. There are many elements that are being addressed individually and collectively. We are taking each day as it comes while being fully aware that things can turn for the worse at any moment. The kids will come back tomorrow for a visit as well.</p><p>I’ll leave you with this - I was there quite late last night after having been called back to the hospital by the oncologist. As I sat in the reclining chair next to her dozing off and half watching her sleep, I visualized us asleep in our beds at 1200 Fifth Ave… happier times and in its own odd way, a sense of peacefulness."</p><p>No matter how crazy things are now, I can say for sure that they are indeed happier times.</p><p>Oh, here's my attempt at an "I got vaccinated" selfie. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVGfxPdeHYwXuaykGNtG2uwaUJmADXeTEIch3-T9C4rHzFUUpRsy-sxU-9smrPO5Giuo76W7H-zfNbjhsvD7GIDee47O_QFMXmO5Dc2rGH-KtiyVjGGMt3kpscnXAStTGa56P1n-jiFU/s2048/E296DF0E-6445-4D7F-8781-F8F4FE0FD24E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVGfxPdeHYwXuaykGNtG2uwaUJmADXeTEIch3-T9C4rHzFUUpRsy-sxU-9smrPO5Giuo76W7H-zfNbjhsvD7GIDee47O_QFMXmO5Dc2rGH-KtiyVjGGMt3kpscnXAStTGa56P1n-jiFU/s320/E296DF0E-6445-4D7F-8781-F8F4FE0FD24E.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-63208354802843857102021-02-05T06:04:00.004-08:002021-02-05T06:07:15.684-08:00It was my re-birthday and I forgot all about it<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBN4StIOAwNCWywVd5DdMqOOKdhHG-6oPTAX1iLx7rEdnFkp7eRZ99L9QxneBjB03AKY475-nriV99KplIMVUqGp_y25OBH8AoRjFh61Hv6PpYY8fLo-ePbc0R2YLT_FCxEELhKlK2sA/s1036/FAA9FBE4-8ED4-4972-B39C-94262E788AFC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBN4StIOAwNCWywVd5DdMqOOKdhHG-6oPTAX1iLx7rEdnFkp7eRZ99L9QxneBjB03AKY475-nriV99KplIMVUqGp_y25OBH8AoRjFh61Hv6PpYY8fLo-ePbc0R2YLT_FCxEELhKlK2sA/s320/FAA9FBE4-8ED4-4972-B39C-94262E788AFC_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Nobody can deny that many things have made it hard to concentrate and along with that, easy to forget.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Election, insurrection, inauguration, crazies in Congress, and of course, COVID. As a person with what one friend jokingly called "50 co-morbidities," I have been worried about the slow, and some say, <a href="https://www.nbcboston.com/news/coronavirus/absolutely-unacceptable-mass-lawmakers-experts-slam-states-covid-vaccination-rollout/2287887/">ineffective, vaccine rollout in Massachusetts,</a> the supposed pinnacle of healthcare in the country. Friends and relatives in the 65 and up group in other states have gotten their first shot, while in Massachusetts, Feb. 1 marked only the beginning of 75 and over. I have gotten on some waiting lists in the area, and Dana-Farber is going to vaccinate transplant patients. But it's unclear when it will happen. </span></p><p>I was upset when the state for some reason moved those with two-plus co-morbidities down a rung. People ask, "Haven't you had that vaccine yet?" as they did when I was two weeks overdo with Ben. ("Haven't you had that baby yet?")</p><p>One of my doctors said we are 30th in the nation in terms of the rollout. Sheesh. </p><p>On the other hand, I am well aware of vaccine inequities throughout the country, and throughout the world, with people in crowded living conditions not even knowing when they will have access to a vaccine, so I could, maybe, possibly, stop whining...</p><p>But wait, we have a new president! What a relief to see someone capable and sane in the office, from top to bottom. And press briefings with no insults! </p><p>On inauguration day, I was nervous and excited, like I was anticipating a big party but afraid someone would crash it. In total, with running and walking, I did about nine miles. I don't usually admit it, but I think I overdid it with the five-miler in the morning. Stamina-wise, I could do it, and I got those endorphins that you don't get in a shorter run. But my knee started talking to me, sending some twingy signals. It is OK but I don't want to bust it. I need to save it for tennis season...and shorter runs.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAacKqtFRKc3-OigPNsWSnDr_O-qIMN2mVrJZnXC_99JZaYV7XVxI_54xdcF5wGsqCxmlY9JTXrpFo6m4xYdWdaS2wL_AE4csLDo-p9rqupoBZpXBMGCLBOQozHZg5gBnHo6suTT3ENyE/s625/5BC396D8-E553-4EE8-B1F8-9B1CDC0698AB.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAacKqtFRKc3-OigPNsWSnDr_O-qIMN2mVrJZnXC_99JZaYV7XVxI_54xdcF5wGsqCxmlY9JTXrpFo6m4xYdWdaS2wL_AE4csLDo-p9rqupoBZpXBMGCLBOQozHZg5gBnHo6suTT3ENyE/s320/5BC396D8-E553-4EE8-B1F8-9B1CDC0698AB.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bernie in front of my house</td></tr></tbody></table><br />And I got to be on the Bernie meme train. So much fun to have something to laugh about and be proud about instead of what could have been a day of tears. <p></p><p>So wait, what did I forget?</p><p>I wrote <a href="https://blood-cancer.com/living/four-birthdays/">this post</a> about getting confused about my birthdays. I remembered my first birthday...and then forgot that Jan. 30th was my 12th re-birthday.</p><p>When Ben texted "Happy birthday," I had to think about it for a moment.</p><p>Then I checked my email and saw that Denise, my donor, had sent a happy re-birthday email.</p><p>Then I thought, wow, how strange to forget. I guess in a way it is good for it to not be such a focus. Frankly it is hard to remember which day or month it is. There aren't the same markers, such as tennis on certain days, then Starbucks or the Thirsty Mind, locally, and other places, for writing. It was much easier to finish something if I told myself I was going out to write somewhere and NOT coming back until I finished.</p><p>The Zoom yoga and fitness classes are some kind of marker, but they are all in the house, so it is not the same thing.</p><p>It just so happens that on Jan. 30th I had talked to both Diane and Margaret, who were both by my side through it all. We hadn't mentioned it, but maybe the universe invited me to call them.</p><p>On that day, it was freezing, and I had gone for a shorter run. I "instagrammed" a photo of me wearing the neck warmer that Joe gave me. </p><p>Afterwards, when I remembered, I texted with Diane and Margaret about the transplant day and the events following the transplant, when I was hanging on for dear life. Feb. 14, "coma day," ... Feb. 22, the day Dr. Alyea called the troops and said I might not make it. </p><p>It is good to remember, but not also so bad to forget.</p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-32611206126006263202021-01-13T08:19:00.004-08:002021-01-13T08:43:53.659-08:00Bad times in the country, better toe at home<p> <br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu-9t2EDCKcuinEi_VA6MkMnS6K2DUadjR5GwfF6Ikekx2EezAVl6DYSf9yKsoIyah08gakctuYqvXIAJtTti1-bhktLMiBAFwzgsU8V5DTwMnPd8pr84bg32xqY3hARLE8SuivbWndU/s2048/A3CE8349-BA71-439D-923C-10C97BF1B850.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu-9t2EDCKcuinEi_VA6MkMnS6K2DUadjR5GwfF6Ikekx2EezAVl6DYSf9yKsoIyah08gakctuYqvXIAJtTti1-bhktLMiBAFwzgsU8V5DTwMnPd8pr84bg32xqY3hARLE8SuivbWndU/w240-h320/A3CE8349-BA71-439D-923C-10C97BF1B850.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I don't write about politics in this space but this is an exceptional time, as in, exceptionally bad, so I will just say:</p><p>1. When I was canvassing for Hillary Clinton and the other Democrats in New Hampshire before the 2016 election, I could not believe it when some people said they were voting for Clinton "as the lesser of two evils." We were more supposed to give them information than engage in conversation, but I just could not stop myself from explaining that they were off their rockers. No I didn't say it that way, I just calmly tried to explain the difference. Of course we didnt know exactly how bad it would be.
For what it's worth, Clinton did get the state's four electoral votes, and Maggie Hassan, the governor running for Senate, won the seat . This is not to mention (which I just did) the guy who shouted at us from his doorstep that he was voting for Trump and we should get away from his house. It was a rainy day, and my feet and my brain got soaked. After I got dropped off in Northampton, I went and treated myself to a pair of boots that my soaked feet and waterlogged brain needed.</p><p>2. After that fateful election night, when I had spent the night at my friends' house for an election night "party," I had to pick Maddie up from my Trump-loving dog sitters (previous baby sitter). I said through tears, "Don't gloat." </p><p>3. In talking to them during the campaign (with Fox News in the background at their house) we had a few words. (I actually love these people except for their politics, and they love my dog so much and take her whenever, I don't know what I would do without them.) They even took the dog when I went to N.H. </p><p>The former babysitter said, "Hillary needs to be in jail" and "Obama ruined the country." When I tried to say otherwise, she said, "You people..." We never talked about it again. I wonder what they think now. I know they also watch "regular" news so they must get some dosage of the truth. </p><p>If it was hard to concentrate before, it's even harder now.</p><p>The other day, though, I ran about five miles. It was good to air my brain out. The only way I can run without my glasses getting fogged up is to put contacts in. The contacts are supposed to be "multi-focals," meaning good for reading also. But they just don't work as well as when my eyes were younger and I used to wear them all day. I can't read that well with them so I just use them for running and longer walks. </p><p>I had to wait about a week for the pain in my toe to subside. The <a href="http://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2020/12/when-i-said-nose-maybe-dermatologist.html">biopsy report</a> came back. I really like the young resident who did the work. He had someone call me while he was on vacation because he knew I was worried. The nurse said it was not squamous cell carcinoma or melanoma or anything to worry about. It is, or was, since it is gone, "just" a benign tumor. </p><p>That is of course good except for there is a hole in my toenail. It is actually more like a missing slice. </p><p>I put two Band Aids on it to run.</p><p>When I say something gross like this, re: the missing part of my toe, I can hear Alexis saying, Ew, David.</p><p>If you have Netflix and haven't watched Schitt's Creek, I'd say to go and do it since it offers as much of a balm as is possible in this time.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5eVFA7lSNHEOiDwdPQ3eSlJKNFz7rmRDYd7XHiRxo5WPDVrlUfppDkAkkpKJvx1qD_tV8F26BhCp3kyK0dmYUZaqp9ZzIFYYR7BgzNuoGLIacLefHvF9PYknRkOpLbUH6tMi6neYoLM/s407/Screen+Shot+2021-01-13+at+11.13.22+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5eVFA7lSNHEOiDwdPQ3eSlJKNFz7rmRDYd7XHiRxo5WPDVrlUfppDkAkkpKJvx1qD_tV8F26BhCp3kyK0dmYUZaqp9ZzIFYYR7BgzNuoGLIacLefHvF9PYknRkOpLbUH6tMi6neYoLM/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-01-13+at+11.13.22+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div><p></p></blockquote></blockquote>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-3820682946093754932020-12-28T12:07:00.005-08:002020-12-28T12:24:33.823-08:00When I said 'nose,' maybe the dermatologist heard 'toes'<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnORHgFGXCZcowZjL1vOEb0FPBr4RKpYAilDoVfERbFHGl7ywvOHXcXwcObihyphenhyphengxEINZezOAR1xRhJaEVDrDKYnsrxD2TIW4fFrZiBYcYOjsvSL0WOJvCkoAp_B9hSNNAB290lnFPd1Fw/s2048/97CA6A7C-F81B-45E6-8F24-AE271130969C.heic" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnORHgFGXCZcowZjL1vOEb0FPBr4RKpYAilDoVfERbFHGl7ywvOHXcXwcObihyphenhyphengxEINZezOAR1xRhJaEVDrDKYnsrxD2TIW4fFrZiBYcYOjsvSL0WOJvCkoAp_B9hSNNAB290lnFPd1Fw/w150-h200/97CA6A7C-F81B-45E6-8F24-AE271130969C.heic" width="150" /></a></div>I went to Boston to the Mohs surgery center for what I thought would be removal of something on my nose. Instead, the doctor said to apply <a href="https://www.aad.org/dw/dw-insights-and-inquiries/2019-archive/september/calcipotriene-and-5-fluorouracil">Efudex/calcipotriene, </a>dermatology's "dynamic duo," to my face for five days, to in effect burn off this and other spots. Instead, she had the resident cut away part of my toenail and biopsy the dark area underneath it, "just to make sure it isn't melanoma." This was kind of as an aside. I have shown this gross big toe to many people who haven't had much to say about the dark area under it along one side. The consensus has been that it is scar tissue from my toe banging up against my shoe while running. She is the first person who seemed to give it a second thought.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When I said nose, maybe she heard toes...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The resident said not to worry. What, me worry? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Here is something I wrote about <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/worrying/">being a worry wart.</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It was not a pleasant experience and really hurt even more when the anesthesia wore off. I have not gotten the results yet. Boyfriend had to stand by when I took the Band Aid off in case I fell over in shock at the sight of it a partial toenail and hit my head.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div>A friend pointed out that it wasn't a good idea to write in October that my hypochondriac tendencies had led me to <a href="http://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2020/10/wondering-about-weight-loss-and.html">suspect pancreatic cancer..</a>.and then disappear.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I started a couple of times, as you can see if you scroll down to a post I wrote last month, and then I had blogger block, a version of writer's block that occurs when you are not sure why you are writing a blog. Also, I like to add photos, and my photos disappeared from my Mac. It took conversations with several Apple experts to get them back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The pandemic has made it hard enough to concentrate on paid work. So I have put my energy into work that pays. I thought of revisiting the blog, however, when I wanted to look up one of the crazy things that happened to me and found it in my blog. It was the years that I had <a href="https://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2010/02/blood-in-iron-out.html">ferritin overload </a>due to having so many blood transfusions, and having to drink a disgusting medicine, Exjade, to get the number to get down to normal. I found the blog, put in "ferritin," and voila, the posts came up. So maybe it is at least useful. Still, I got tired of hearing myself talk about myself. I'm not sure what I am going to do, but I thought I would at least check in and update.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is something about the <a href="https://www.nextavenue.org/are-you-more-likely-to-be-sad-this-winter/">increased mental health risks </a>during the pandemic for those who have seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, and tips for coping. And here is another pandemic-related story, about the need for <a href="https://chicagohealthonline.com/cancer-and-covid-19/">cancer treatments and screenings t</a>o continue. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is what I started: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_MRfpNf6vAiavXGZiM3LgMwwNnQU4Shy5lLKY5yWrUQZ2_Vtrw0uiK_F6KifMhie3j21d3dcNQs1MI-YC7g16EtQsLYZNdqFZF93SefNTi90TG2aDmXfTTK36aAWikq1DylZgfilGgw/s1084/LRG_DSC03991.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1084" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_MRfpNf6vAiavXGZiM3LgMwwNnQU4Shy5lLKY5yWrUQZ2_Vtrw0uiK_F6KifMhie3j21d3dcNQs1MI-YC7g16EtQsLYZNdqFZF93SefNTi90TG2aDmXfTTK36aAWikq1DylZgfilGgw/s320/LRG_DSC03991.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Here we are with my Aunt Marge on her 100th birthday. I was very attached to her. My mother said that when I was three or so, and my head didn't reach the counter in a coffee shop, and my aunt hadn't gotten served, I said, as if out of nowhere, ""Please give my Aunt Marge cup of coffee." <p></p><p>When I moved to Western Mass for my job at the T-T (Transcript-Telegram), I stayed with her in Greenfield for a while. She was gracious, even when my dog Simon took a chomp at their little dog when he messed with Simon's food. Over the years when she lived in New York, I visited as much as I could. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikL3EM0gmwq9_Or-VDBKNQFLRI-X5CTIHSkQFF9YUs94VYGC-NHQGXQ5bSv2iwzXvCP9a3VGxL9XUSHWFWhDwovY6xYHbiXZssOhUWtnwKbilNNoAWxxSIpU6hX1d2la_Fu3lrVDJUzfU/s400/kids.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikL3EM0gmwq9_Or-VDBKNQFLRI-X5CTIHSkQFF9YUs94VYGC-NHQGXQ5bSv2iwzXvCP9a3VGxL9XUSHWFWhDwovY6xYHbiXZssOhUWtnwKbilNNoAWxxSIpU6hX1d2la_Fu3lrVDJUzfU/s320/kids.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>This photo at left turned up during cleanup, in an envelope of old photos. Warren in front, my mother on the left, and Marge on the right...with the same sweet face.<div>As Bruce wrote in a beautiful tribute on Facebook, when Marge died on Oct. <span face="system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">19th, "she spent 101 years and 9 months on this planet and came in on a pandemic and left on a pandemic." </span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7N4HXHb9hqgLBKJyPz_xtumMRuhHy_4xXw2AL9l6Y9_rJtIGQXdeHzI5T_a0N0sY3XrRhyr4lOhsgan672UBkt0OrKwyXF2AvNElILcRZ1sBwkuLoTbqzIwJeY5NqKBwxcQ4T-UChtY/s740/Screen+Shot+2020-11-29+at+8.27.04+AM.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="740" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7N4HXHb9hqgLBKJyPz_xtumMRuhHy_4xXw2AL9l6Y9_rJtIGQXdeHzI5T_a0N0sY3XrRhyr4lOhsgan672UBkt0OrKwyXF2AvNElILcRZ1sBwkuLoTbqzIwJeY5NqKBwxcQ4T-UChtY/w320-h250/Screen+Shot+2020-11-29+at+8.27.04+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruce Byers photo, Lynne and Marge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Saying that I was sad when she died is an understatement. It is more than being the last link to the generation, to my mother. It is the love I felt for her. And not being able to go down to New York makes it worse. I have thought of doing it and would love to see Jeanne, Bruce, and Amanda, but it doesn't make sense now with the surge. </p><p>The two of them were sooooo close. They called each other Bren. It came from an act that two sisters, Brenda and Cobina, did, which would start like this: "Brenda!" "What is it Cobina?" They apparently did this for a while and then when they forgot which one was which, they just simply called each other Bren.</p><p>Hopefully will all make it through and can get together in New York to celebrate a wonderful life. </p><p>Here is another start. </p><p>It sounds like an ordinary day...yoga, tennis, Odyssey bookstore on Small Business Saturday, coffee with a friend, dog walk... and in a way though part of it would have seemed abnormal pre-pandemic, it is the version that I have gotten used to. It was virtual yoga on the living room floor, for starters. Tennis, still at the Canoe Club, wasn't any different than in the past except for knowing that it is nearing the end because I decided not to go inside. At The Odyssey, one-way traffic, hand sanitizer, and a placard to take so they can keep track of, and limit, the number of people inside. And coffee sipped behind the mask, reminding me of how I did it after all of my transplants .</p></div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-74279028104791544202020-10-04T09:31:00.004-07:002020-10-13T15:50:06.178-07:00Wondering about weight loss and activities moving insideThere’s a fine line between being hypervigilant and hypochondriacal. For example, whenever it comes up, my friends say that being a hypochondriac helped me when I went to the doctor after <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2005/04/03/magazine/running-for-my-life.html">that fateful slow </a>10K in 2003; they would have just written it off to a bad day. I say that I think that one was more in the hypervigilant category. I thought something was wrong, but in my mind it wasn’t a deadly disease, just bad diet or training. <div><br /></div><div> As an aside, it has been interesting to see the doctor who diagnosed me, Ron Berger, out on the tennis court after his retirement. </div><div><br /></div><div> Well in any case, on the hypochondriac side, I started to worry that my weight loss was a sign of something dire, even though I recently had a blood test that turned up some slightly off kidney function but nothing too serious. (Upon retest it got better and might have been due to dehydration or taking Ibuprofen, which is bad for kidneys, but I'm not supposed to take much Tylenol, either, because it's bad for liver, which leaves me with oxy, and I definitely don't want to take too much of that, but pain relief is another topic.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I don’t as a rule get on the scale. I started to think about it when my dentist, who takes an interest in my overall health, said I was too thin, and I should go eat some steak. It’s kind of in my family to get thinner and thinner, though. For example, my father was so thin and unsteady that we were afraid he would fall over. </div><div><br /></div><div> At my last appointment at Dana-Farber, I did weigh in at about 10 pounds less than the year before, but they said it was OK since it was over a year, and I’m very active. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well I finally got on the scale last week and was aghast at what I saw. I weighed less than when I finished cancer treatment. When a disease is in the news, that’s the one that sticks with me, so immediately thought I had pancreatic cancer. I don’t usually do this, but if I’m in a panic, I think it’s OK to text my wonderful nurse practitioner, Melissa Cochran. She gave me her number, so I think she doesn’t mind. She said she would call me.</div><div><br /></div><div> She did shortly after.
Her response was not that I should rush right in. (Maybe I expect bad news because of all the times it happened, and this history gets layered on top of my tendency to worry.) She said I probably wasn’t getting the 2,000 calories a day that I should be getting. </div><div><br /></div><div>I downloaded My Fitness Pal and tracked what I ate for a day. Then I subtracted my activity, which was a lot, and saw that indeed, I was below that number.
Another factor was removing most dairy, due to digestive issues. </div><div><br /></div><div>I bought some Ensure (chocolate flavor) and took it back. Then after some friends said I should try it, I got some more, drank a little, and said no thank you. I think maybe I’ll take a chance on the digestive issues and put some ice cream back in. Also the running I’ve been doing, although not pretty, undoubtedly burns a lot of calories. </div><div><br /></div><div>And then there is tennis most days…
I’m enjoying it so much, I don’t want outside tennis to end. A lot of people are going to go inside, but I’m not sure what to do. It seems like it was just yesterday (actually end of May or early June) when we were worrying that it wasn’t safe to even play outside. We got through that and even attended a garden party last week at a tennis friend’s house. </div><div><br /></div><div> Since I like to worry, in addition to worrying about indoor tennis (which a lot of people say I shouldn't do), I'm worried about how I'm going to see kids and grandkids when it gets too cold to be outside. They were already briefly in my house, so I'm thinking that maybe we can do it if we don't get too close to each other.
</div><div><br /></div><div>I have an appointment at Dana-Farber in a couple of weeks with my new doctor, so I think I'll get his opinion on these things instead of taking the "person on the street" approach.</div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-61416233444742024232020-09-27T12:59:00.003-07:002021-06-29T13:03:30.323-07:00How to improve your tennis game: Buy a new skirt<p> I wasn't sure I could watch the US Open without fans, and with knowing that Donna and I wouldn't be going this year. But I quickly got into watching the tennis and finding it interesting to see the players watching each other and wandering around doing all the other activities in the bubble.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0Sd9blvbBH8TURb7VxI5W8lHAIEf9gscb09MDCJYXkAyhC6H25vQnAZY1ttNRWShxQVu29OsOlB0hgXhxN8EF8lIur-fo1uglE1FmTrCXAw3c5GjR5gIAKkLg4nOCwGPz96FATAKuv0/s2048/IMG_2426.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0Sd9blvbBH8TURb7VxI5W8lHAIEf9gscb09MDCJYXkAyhC6H25vQnAZY1ttNRWShxQVu29OsOlB0hgXhxN8EF8lIur-fo1uglE1FmTrCXAw3c5GjR5gIAKkLg4nOCwGPz96FATAKuv0/s320/IMG_2426.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Holyoke Canoe Club</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>It was right about this time that the elastic in my tennis skirts gave way. I kept jacking them up like an old man hitching up his pants. And the colorful skirts and tops that many of the women were wearing caught my eye. The design was like paint brush strokes. I put in the relevant keywords (Nike skirt US Open blue and pink) and the Nike US Open skirt came up. </p><p>I thought it was just an interesting, colorful skirt, but then I read that the Nike look at the US Open was more than that. Marija Zivlak of <a href="https://www.wtatennis.com/news/1798947/2020-us-open-outfits-ready-to-shine-under-nyc-lights">Women’s Tennis Blog wrote,</a></p><p>"Nike is reviving Andre Agassi’s rebel style in the 2020 iteration of the ATP icon’s Challenge Court collection that stirred up the tennis fashion world thirty years ago. Using coquille board, torn paper and snippets of the original design, Nike re-created the legendary looks with more modern, functional fabrics.</p><p>"The bold collection includes tanks, cropped shirts, skirts, shorts and jackets, all in neon and surf/skate-like geometric patterns that bring back the vibes of Agassi’s groundbreaking on-court style."</p><p>When I looked up the skirt online, I saw that I could get it for a discount at Tennis Warehouse. But in keeping with the "shop small" theme that I already follow and that the Open promoted, I got it at the tennis store in Fairfield after another fabulous day at the beach. </p><p>"Maybe it will improve my game," I said to the salesperson.</p><p>Well, actually, it did.</p><p>I had this thought about my game:</p><p>For all the years I've been playing, and all the lessons I've taken, maybe my game should be a little better. </p><p>But for all the days I spent almost dying, maybe my game should be worse...or maybe I shouldn't have a game at all.</p><p>Therefore, I am probably right where I am supposed to be.</p><p>Also, I'm having fun and getting exercise. When I first came back (multiple times) and went to clinics, I could barely keep the ball in play. I remember feeling kinda bad that I was gumming it up for the other players and feeling embarrassed that I couldn't do what I wanted to do. Now I get asked to sub in groups and feel like a valued member of the tennis community. And in the four days that I played this week, my foot didn't hurt!</p><p>Just to make sure it stays that way, I went out to Shutesbury, to the foot fix-it guy Ken Holt, and got a new pair of orthotics. My last pair was three years old. I was using a pair that was even older that got mixed up with the three-year-old pair. Ken is not seeing people in his office; you drop off your old orthotics and he makes the new pair based on it. But I wanted to make sure he was working off the right pair, so I met him in his driveway (at a distance of course) and showed him both pairs. I couldn't tell, but he said it was easy to see which was the newer pair. </p><p>With our democracy at stake, foot problems and tennis level ponderings seem very shallow, so, I'll just say that although I found door-knocking easier when we were in the real world, I am doing some phone banking. I wrote postcards to Florida voters to encourage them to vote by mail, but that part is over. And the price of the shirt to go with the skirt was too much so I didn't get it, though who knows, maybe my game would go up another level if I matched. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-520489949566223722020-09-06T07:06:00.005-07:002020-09-06T07:09:39.275-07:00Birthday and beach day good, foot pain bad<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf69Azk5HFituwSc8kTzmnowQv461W6aT8VSfUBxYf3nOqzpqSduHEazRd89WeX9yq7khYmyXiGVWkf3I2EGfdfxIlhH4WqshaD7-KFRTQdTzySY6910uaNuAYIC0l1h4blmAHavtck8/s2048/15CC4D16-B9FF-4B3C-AD1D-F4727E251E00.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf69Azk5HFituwSc8kTzmnowQv461W6aT8VSfUBxYf3nOqzpqSduHEazRd89WeX9yq7khYmyXiGVWkf3I2EGfdfxIlhH4WqshaD7-KFRTQdTzySY6910uaNuAYIC0l1h4blmAHavtck8/s320/15CC4D16-B9FF-4B3C-AD1D-F4727E251E00.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />I had a great pre birthday, birthday and post birthday followed by a bad foot day. The bad day turned into more. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">Something re-activated the dreaded plantar fasciitis, making me a bore to anyone who hasn't suffered from it. One of my tennis buddies had it so badly that she had to skip tennis for a while and go to physical therapy. In between games on the court, she showed me some of her stretches. I feel like I know them all...I actually threw out my boot because I was done with it. The moral might be that even if you have a dumpster in your driveway, never throw anything out.</span><p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;">I have been going to the chiropractor and have contacted my orthotics guy, Ken Holt, because I wonder if it's just a matter of getting new orthotics.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A friend said he couldn't keep track of my birthdays, and I understood. One original birthday and four re-birthdays. </span></p><p>It was great to have the three kids and one cute little boy at my house for the pre-birthday. We ate outside and were going to stay outside (because, COVID) but Callen wanted to go in. We thought of not doing it but all of a sudden we were all inside. We spaced out and that was a while ago already so I figure it was OK. I loved seeing him at my mother's piano next to one of her paintings.</p><p>On the real birthday, I played tennis and went out to eat with Boyfriend, for the first time. People said that <a href="http://30boltwood.com/">30Boltwood</a>, in Amherst, does a good job, and they were right. </p><p>A couple of days later, I got to go back to the Fairfield Beach Club, where I had great success in getting Callen's little shoes on him while Ben was busy with Nell. Callen had eaten a Spiderman pop and got more on himself than in his mouth. I suggested we go wash up. He took my hand and we headed off. That little hand in mine was worth the two-hour drive. I thought we were going to a certain bathroom but he led me to another room with a big sink in it. I picked him up and turned on the water, which he seemed to be trying to catch in his hands. </p><p>This of course makes me think of doing the same thing with my little kids.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7KPSkJuQY21EGjvJyD19LUlKCWZw2YO9ByuM40qfk0FhDlkos0PX3a2D3B-bwdqNZzMW-NHn9wPQgAys5bNEo6UyZJm-IMWTwHAIUQNYOxjXDRIbQ0w9OpBv5rqr0-Cz_rzxryWX7E4/s2048/IMG_2333.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7KPSkJuQY21EGjvJyD19LUlKCWZw2YO9ByuM40qfk0FhDlkos0PX3a2D3B-bwdqNZzMW-NHn9wPQgAys5bNEo6UyZJm-IMWTwHAIUQNYOxjXDRIbQ0w9OpBv5rqr0-Cz_rzxryWX7E4/s320/IMG_2333.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />At the end of the day I enjoyed a swim in the calm Long Island Sound. I miss seeing the ocean at Cape Cod, but I think it was Katie who pointed out to me that since I'm not allowed in the ocean, this is a good fit for me. Ben pointed out that there were also no sharks.<p></p><p>If you don't care about feet, you can stop here.</p><p> On top of that, my neuropathy, which has been pretty tame, has gone on and off crazy. The other night, I felt like my feet were electrified. I don't post too much in FB groups such as Our Neuropathy Friends, because everyone is going to have a different opinion. But if a lot of people have the same opinion, for example on a kind of CBD that is effective, I might be interested. That group is recognized by <a href="https://www.foundationforpn.org/">The Foundation for Peripheral Neuropathy, by the way, </a></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello! I haven't posted in a while because I've been doing OK, meaning, a low buzz in my feet but not that bad. 900 mgs of gabapentin twice a day, or an extra 300 if I want. I don't know what happened. Maybe it's the rain that is coming. My feet got totally electrified, on top of a return of plantar fasciitis. A while back I tried CBD, THC and a combination and was never that happy with the results so I stopped. I was just staring at some chocolate that is 1-1 and wondering if I should take a nibble but I didn't. CBD doesn't really do anything and THC makes me a little stoned, even if I take a little/ I guess it works to take your mind off the neuropathy but I've kind of been there done that with that feeling. As you all know it is very upsetting. I took 5 mgs of oxycodone before. Now it has worn off. Ibuprofen has a bad effect on my kidneys and Tylenol of course is bad for the liver. I put CBD cream on my feet and that helps a little. I guess my question is whether people have had good luck with CBD. The kind I have now is made by Good Body Products in Vermont, for what that's worth. </span></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly it was good to get a little support.</span></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="" style="color: #1d2129;">"</span><span face="" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; orphans: 2; white-space: normal; widows: 2;">People that dont deal with this problem have no idea of how debilitating and relentless it is," one said.</span></span></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly they are doing the same as I am, rubbing different things in their feet. One said he had it so bad that he had to stop work and apply for Social Security Disability. </span></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone said capsaicin in a gel, but I put that on my toe once when I had problems and it burned my skin. </span></p><p><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But then after a string of bad foot days I had one of my best tennis days ever. So in conclusion it's hard to figure.</span></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-68425583168243672012020-08-18T08:02:00.001-07:002020-08-18T08:02:07.520-07:00Hard to miss hard court dedication at special place<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEa00eCZO1AATRxxSKSIEifHk5g86cBT02Q4Q6Sseuy7UhfQDlqhjF4Apv7rKIWzNQbhPviarjZDnFU7UlaaaV-NgMav4KsznjCsQkwYjMlnJF1AyjjYJZ1mGzV2-DaZMXiWlDERTzOQ/s324/Screen+Shot+2020-08-15+at+12.52.50+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEa00eCZO1AATRxxSKSIEifHk5g86cBT02Q4Q6Sseuy7UhfQDlqhjF4Apv7rKIWzNQbhPviarjZDnFU7UlaaaV-NgMav4KsznjCsQkwYjMlnJF1AyjjYJZ1mGzV2-DaZMXiWlDERTzOQ/s0/Screen+Shot+2020-08-15+at+12.52.50+PM.png" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This morning, George was to speak at a dedication for the new hard tennis courts at The Holyoke Canoe Club. He got the project started, donating $10,000, and others followed his lead and reached the goal of $25,000. I did my little part. He said some 60 people donated. Anyone who donated could cut a piece of the ribbon. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When they reached the goal, he had said, with a big grin on his face, that he felt like George Bailey from A Wonderful Life. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Apparently enough people said they wouldn't attend that the celebration this morning would be under the limit of 50 people set by the governor. I thought of going. I really wanted to. But concerns about my funky immune stopped me. He is always there, so I think I will go over this afternoon to ask how it went. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I did a Serenity Yoga Studio yoga class (at home) during the time of the celebration. The teacher lives nearby, and next time I might do it at her house. I gave Maddie a good walk first so that she wouldn't come and try to sit on the mat with me. She seems to like to do that. I like it when she lies down beside me but not when she hogs, or rather dogs, the mat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">George has helped me so much during all of my comebacks. It's not just the tennis. It's having the clinics – summer camp for adults. I told him I don't know if it's improving my tennis, but I come for the fun. He said it is, so I'll take him at his word. It's figuring out a way, this year, to have socially distant watermelon during breaks and place our chairs far enough apart and telling stories. We both talk about our fathers and tennis. "My father always said..."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My favorite of my own is, "Don't kid yourself how good you are when you're hitting with the pro." George says it's not totally true because he often hits us hard-to-get balls.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It's the breeze and the river and his "air-conditioned court," the one closest to the river. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was telling me not to take more than one step when I first came back after my fourth stem cell transplant, because that's all I could do.</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> If you didn't know him, you would have been insulted by the way he said it..."Don't go for that ball, you won't make it." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When I got to the point of being expected to get more balls, if I missed one, I would joke, "but I was in a coma." That would have been 11 years ago, when the coma was in the recent past. One day when the coma was farther into the past, I said, "I guess I can't use that excuse any more." So I stopped. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In any case, he was a big part of this story I wrote for <a href="#" id="https://www.espn.com/espnw/voices/story/_/id/17396904/how-tennis-helped-recover-leukemia" name="https://www.espn.com/espnw/voices/story/_/id/17396904/how-tennis-helped-recover-leukemia">espnW.com </a>about how tennis helped me recover from leukemia.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">*************************************************************************************************************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8aWxWrrzjc1aAxthNRf2BQH_GhCpgiSeq8dhpT0ER4O1RG3iV198ijThxXb_AfJKAiZ94p-ZgY_7l_BJqym2nEcRU9pAmvBW2sykjJU4pjUT5jcrmcB1A4JnCc-1q8hZYvj9h_AfZxU/s2048/6D566408-2C9D-4910-8892-70802C7FCB27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8aWxWrrzjc1aAxthNRf2BQH_GhCpgiSeq8dhpT0ER4O1RG3iV198ijThxXb_AfJKAiZ94p-ZgY_7l_BJqym2nEcRU9pAmvBW2sykjJU4pjUT5jcrmcB1A4JnCc-1q8hZYvj9h_AfZxU/w118-h210/6D566408-2C9D-4910-8892-70802C7FCB27.jpg" width="118" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Well, I guess I forgot to post that one!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Later in the day we went over and hit some balls and sat on chairs at the hard court and heard about the dedication. The idea is that these courts will be playable further into the cold weather than the clay courts. If the inside season started now, I wouldn't go in. I would of course miss tennis in the winter. If things change, maybe I would change my mind. I look kind of silly in this mask in the photo but I took the photo after tennis at Longmeadow High School courts with a little explanation of why the smell from this kind of mask brings back bad memories of wearing these when I was severely immunocompromised. Hey, this is kind of related to tennis: something I wrote about <a href="#" id="https://blood-cancer.com/living/backhanded-compliment/" name="https://blood-cancer.com/living/backhanded-compliment/">backhanded compliments. </a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-27193195377604764202020-08-09T20:03:00.010-07:002020-08-10T04:35:47.694-07:00'There's no crying in tennis'<p> </p><p><span data-offset-key="eiv93-0-0" face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span data-offset-key="eiv93-0-0" face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZgo5ipLNWRpnPwst3KOQ63EHzPDNID-O23M4TGs_CSoVH3wzIU1q1rLmC1JVPuB-wqJNIbSCJA0KktvEsYDWFIT8rNTkC21dTL-Yu1eyPBAuJOr17yl-L5Z704kDetY7rjplA9ZuHVU/s385/Screen+Shot+2020-08-10+at+7.25.47+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="385" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZgo5ipLNWRpnPwst3KOQ63EHzPDNID-O23M4TGs_CSoVH3wzIU1q1rLmC1JVPuB-wqJNIbSCJA0KktvEsYDWFIT8rNTkC21dTL-Yu1eyPBAuJOr17yl-L5Z704kDetY7rjplA9ZuHVU/w246-h241/Screen+Shot+2020-08-10+at+7.25.47+AM.png" width="246" /></a></span></span></div><span data-offset-key="eiv93-0-0" face="" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="font-family: inherit;">In my opinion, the goal of a volley drill is to keep it going, to practice control, not to win a point. You don't want to hit a pouf ball because you need momentum, but you don't want to slam it either. I probably shouldn't have said anything, but I did on Wednesday when the player on the other side of the net was playing speed ball. We got nowhere near the number of volleys that George wanted. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of "I think it works better to hit it more slowly." Or maybe it was, "I think it works better when you don't hit it as hard." </span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her response: "I'm here for me too." </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Say what?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was not one of the regulars. I actually know her from Friday night mixers and team tennis, and we have a good rapport, so I didn't get why she was so edgy. (I was going to say hostile but that's a little bit much.) People understandably don't like to be told anything by anyone except for the pro. I get it. But at least have a better response than "I'm here for me too." It didn't make any sense. Who knows, maybe it bothered the writer in me. "Here for me too" doesn't work if you're not keeping the ball in play.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A friend (who we love) who doesn't live here anymore hit it equally hard in drills, also to the point of defeating the purpose. If we pointed it out, she would just say "I can't hit it any other way!" or something like that. Nobody got defensive and nobody got upset. We would just laugh.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In any case, on Wednesday, we rotated soon after. In two rotations, I ended up next to George and opposite the hard hitter and another player. One of her first balls hit me hard in the arm. My skin is very sensitive, and my sympathetic nervous system is probably over-reactive. I had to fight back tears. (There's no crying in tennis!) I grabbed my arm and gave her a look. "I said I'm sorry. It wasn't that hard," she said. I didn't hear the sorry part but I don't doubt it. But wait...the "It wasn't that hard part" wasn't necessary. It hurt, so it was hard enough. When we rotated again, I walked off the court to collect some balls and collect myself. </span></p><p>That left three in the next rotation. My spot would have been against the hard hitter. "Ronni doesn't want to hit with me," she said to them, loudly. It sounded like playground talk. One of the others called over that she would hit with me instead. I actually wasn't avoiding her...It was hot, we had been there a long time, and I was just taking a break. But the drill called for four people and I didn't want to mess it up, so I went back and hit with the other person.</p><p>It all ironed out by the end of the morning. But it was not your usual magic day at the Canoe Club. I thought I would get black-and-blue but at least that didn't happen.</p>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-13474887915809373112020-08-04T20:00:00.003-07:002020-08-04T20:00:37.090-07:00(Not so) long ago and far away<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHJADsPq5yJEAG-FsqXOtwMbV_7F0nZZlA8rvENnnFiLXAO8lNykybteuvbS3qRYAjgugvdCwa79BEWUtPGWnKT9hjhC26foCLRK5wBxDqTnFSxDPXzFWpjxuyozLbZkv3DWdHEXcShLY/s2048/IMG_1465.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1661" height="641" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHJADsPq5yJEAG-FsqXOtwMbV_7F0nZZlA8rvENnnFiLXAO8lNykybteuvbS3qRYAjgugvdCwa79BEWUtPGWnKT9hjhC26foCLRK5wBxDqTnFSxDPXzFWpjxuyozLbZkv3DWdHEXcShLY/w519-h641/IMG_1465.jpeg" width="519" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I made a book for Katie with pictures from our California trip Feb. 20-24, under the wire before the lockdown. We both looked at the glow on our faces in the photo with Nancy, Serena, Goldie and baby Leo on Stinson Beach, our last stop before we came back, and said how happy we looked. I used the photo for the back cover. I leaned the book, with the back cover facing out, on a table in my dining room, instead of putting it away. </div><div><br /></div><div> In perhaps a Freudian slip, when I went to write that we said how happy we looked, I wrote sad instead of said. Sad, because who knows when we will be able to do something like that again. And because it seemed so innocent to hand a phone to someone on the beach instead of darting away like we would have to do now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back in the real world in dermatology land, I am treating two spots with Efudex, the chemotherapy cream that patients love to hate. The one that is the least problematic, an actinic keratosis on my face, is red and angry (that's what it's supposed to do) and the one that is actually a skin cancer (squamous cell) on my chest, is not doing much. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wrote a <a href="#" id="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/getting-dermatologist/" name="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/getting-dermatologist/">little something</a> on how getting to the dermatologist can be a pain. It just came out but I wrote it before my latest visit, when I finally did it right. </div><div><br /></div><div>You wouldn't think that the lions, Patience and Fortitude, guarding the 42nd Street library would have much to do with neuropathy, but I wrote <a href="#" id="https://blood-cancer.com/living/neuropathy/" name="https://blood-cancer.com/living/neuropathy/">this post </a>connecting the two. The connection occurred to me while I was running and needed a distraction from the pins and needles in my feet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Missing live theater, I also wrote about <a href="#" id="https://www.nextavenue.org/virtual-theater/" name="https://www.nextavenue.org/virtual-theater/">virtual ways</a> to stay connected to theater during the pandemic. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have a thin skin, literally and figuratively, so I got very upset the other day when someone told me that I was not as appreciative as I should have been when the neighborhood ladies brought me food after my first stem cell transplant. She said instead of being gracious, I had told some of them i didn't LIKE the food.</div><div><br /></div><div>That was 17 years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure where that came from.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLY_CEVcBy1XjGjf09GDtTOCwRcJJKQRVqEj5-da89PzILC1DbGyNyQsug1cF55fiWGMPqn93RfjJuFHt0MbXKbpwMb7iJOIT_QYUa6enLl3LdiVCMwKdHJJ94OXcRnF4CIIcHFmO1BQ/s1069/fullsizeoutput_13e5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="725" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLY_CEVcBy1XjGjf09GDtTOCwRcJJKQRVqEj5-da89PzILC1DbGyNyQsug1cF55fiWGMPqn93RfjJuFHt0MbXKbpwMb7iJOIT_QYUa6enLl3LdiVCMwKdHJJ94OXcRnF4CIIcHFmO1BQ/w178-h262/fullsizeoutput_13e5.jpeg" width="178" /></a></div>And I'm not sure where some of these sayings come from, but I was <i>sick as a dog. </i>I doubt I said I didn't like the food, but even if I did, whoever was bothered could have given me a break. I probably said I couldn't eat the food, because the rules after stem cell transplant are no food cooked outside your house, due to possible contamination on someone's counter or in transit. Or maybe she got this report after the food deliveries were OK, but under strict guidelines about what I could and couldn't eat. </div><div><br /></div><div>But hey Callen turned three and Nell turned five last month.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hear Nell is working on her two-handed backhand with the tennis racquet I gave her.</div><div><br /></div><div>You heard me say that I'd never see my grandchildren, right? </div><div>So, some things are more important than what someone might say about you.</div><div><br /></div>Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-19924190046047496632020-07-25T12:25:00.001-07:002020-07-25T12:29:04.679-07:00Having my pie and eating it too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My perfect combination is a tennis game followed by sour cream coffee cake from Breezy Acres Farm, in Granby. When I went yesterday,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I got a cute little watermelon, broccoli, blueberries, and corn…the flavors of summer. I eyed two cute little mini blueberry pies on the shelf in front of the kitchen and asked if they were taken. Nancy, Evelyn's sister the baker, didn’t know, and Evelyn was outside somewhere. For some reason, though, I thought the person at the register had gotten one for me. When I got home, I looked in my bag and it wasn’t there. I called up and Evelyn said she had just thrown the pies </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">together, they weren't her perfect pies, and I could have one for free.</span></div>
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Tennis was good but I thought I could use a little more exercise. <span style="font-size: 12pt;">I told Boyfriend that I thought I might bike. He said, "You'll have to get up that hill." By that hill, he meant Cold Hill. In the old days it was a lot of effort but I could do it. A few weeks ago when I tried it I had to get off and walk. Katie reminded me that there was no shame in getting off and walking. Still, I would rather not do it. I don't like teeter-tottering in the easiest gear and stopping to get off; that's when I could fall. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayDEFxgaSCZPCnlxm85sajKwMLXtFib6Uy0mh9MgIsVOmWgNmE-s7NFlFOaBDteW64f06VoyR-6j7E5U4RD7CcIJ6EVNXXlZByfixtJ6FkrVb6VPZyMTET62mLZhzr3MFGYjyClV7tVg/s1600/2vvSp82dREWHjiMxje6BJg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayDEFxgaSCZPCnlxm85sajKwMLXtFib6Uy0mh9MgIsVOmWgNmE-s7NFlFOaBDteW64f06VoyR-6j7E5U4RD7CcIJ6EVNXXlZByfixtJ6FkrVb6VPZyMTET62mLZhzr3MFGYjyClV7tVg/s200/2vvSp82dREWHjiMxje6BJg.jpg" width="150" /></a>So I had the "brilliant" idea of going up Morgan Street instead. It has a gentler incline. I put on a back pack and off I went. When I got there, Evelyn started to say that I was a little nuts, but she changed it to that I was funny. In any case, I got my pie and went home. First I ate half. Then with about two seconds in between half one and half two, I went back and got the other half. </div>
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The little dent at the top of the pie isn't a mistake on Evelyn's part. It's a little nibble that I took out of it while bringing the pie inside. </div>
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The other day Katie and I took a walk along the dike through the corn fields off the bike path. I knew of a biking route that goes left off the bike path when coming from Damon Road but not about this walk, which is an earlier left, when coming from the parking lot. We heard loud booms that scared us. It sounded like shots. We couldn't tell where they were coming from. Two women happened to be coming towards us, from the direction of the Connecticut River, where we were going. They looked like another mother and daughter pair.</div>
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They said not to worry, these were corn cannons to scare off birds. When I got home, I looked it up and saw that we weren't the only ones who thought they were gun shots. <a href="https://www.gazettenet.com/Ciesluk-Farm-bird-cannon-4294618">This story </a>describes how a farmer uses these bird cannons, or noise cannons.</div>
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When we got down to the river, we sat in the shade, leaned back, and looked at the water. It sure is nice to have her around. Usually when we do things together, we take a photo together, but since we are not in the same bubble, we are sitting further apart, hence the separate photos. We have talked about integrating our bubbles. Hers is larger so it's not a good idea. This is hard but I'm glad we have enough open space to be together apart.</div>
Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4179516101180622376.post-76613126740631333662020-07-21T19:21:00.001-07:002020-07-21T19:21:11.020-07:00Extra, extra, I went to the right address in Boston<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLv6efCx1xKXUgLep0UEUKTP8xIalr5TvX-Ve42280le9Auk6KCfYWsiMXvaPXQB4ZuLSlM0o7YKEcRfFcbhco-X_y6VprNUkoJL0HDtoeajSnBxBbkNGajGQGU_we9_KwRDhv5dthsJA/s1600/fullsizeoutput_13c0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLv6efCx1xKXUgLep0UEUKTP8xIalr5TvX-Ve42280le9Auk6KCfYWsiMXvaPXQB4ZuLSlM0o7YKEcRfFcbhco-X_y6VprNUkoJL0HDtoeajSnBxBbkNGajGQGU_we9_KwRDhv5dthsJA/s320/fullsizeoutput_13c0.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traffic watch</td></tr>
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"Your skin looks good...for you."<br />
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"Your scleroderma looks good."<br />
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These were interesting words to hear at my trip to the dermatologist in Boston last Tuesday.<br />
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By looks good "for you," that meant only two biopsies. But it did not mean a break from getting multiple areas zapped, alas. As I write this several days later, spots are still blistering and starting to peel, like the end of a bad sunburn. The idea is to leave them alone, but as I've said before, that is easier said than done.<br />
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The dermatology practice had a very interesting procedure: Be there no earlier than five minutes and no later than five. When you get to the door, call the number and you will get patched through to an operator who will screen you. Tell the person at the door you were screened. Go into the empty waiting room and go straight to the exam room.<br />
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I was told the doctors were told to keep on time. I went into an exam room...and waited about 45 minutes. At least though they did't keep me waiting for an hour in a FULL waiting room like they did at Dana-Farber, where apparently they forgot about me.<br />
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I drove myself again. It wasn't bad. It actually felt good to be going some place. You might not believe that a person could go to a wrong address twice, but if you know me, you can believe it.<br />
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I previously went to 221 Longwood Avenue Brookline, instead of 221 Longwood Avenue Boston, where the office is...and I did it twice, almost missing my appointment. This time I FOCUSED on going to the right place. I don't even know how I had messed it up. It wasn't that difficult. Ben turned me on to the <a href="http://fivethirtyeight.com/">fivethirtyeight.com</a> podcast. It was a good one and nice and long so between that, and listening to The Daily, from the New York Times, I was pretty well occupied.<br />
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Speaking of dermatology, here's something I wrote about <a href="https://skincancer.net/life-with-skin-cancer/embarrassed-efudex-face/">being embarrassed </a>about my face.<br />
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I took a selfie to show Ben that I was wearing the running hat he gave me.<br />
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I took it maybe 100 times (not really) because I didn't like my wrinkles. Maddie has also gotten old (er) but is still photogenic. I took a photo of her doing a "traffic watch" while I stretched.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-run selfie</td></tr>
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I noticed that you can see the bump on my shoulder. Actually I mean, the bone sticking up. It's from when I crashed onto the tennis court on a break between chemo sessions many moons ago while diving for a ball and trying to protect my Hickman catheter while I fell.<br />
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Yesterday it was really too hot to go running by the time I got around to it, but I did it anyway. I have gotten back into it enough so that I really miss it when I don't do it.<br />
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I skipped the family birthday party over the weekend. (Two July birthdays, one party!) My first reaction was that I was going, and then I realized I shouldn't go. Too much exposure and all that.<br />
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I knew it was the right thing to do but still it made me sad. The other grandma messaged me via Facebook and said they missed me. It was sweet of her. They tried to put me on FaceTime but there was too much going on and it didn't really work. I had a little meltdown. It's surprising the way things just sneak up on you.<br />
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I got the results of the biopsies. One, on my chest, is a squamous cell "in situ," just on the skin. I am supposed to treat it for four weeks with Efudex. The one on my cheek is actinic keratosis (AK). These could lead to skin cancer and also need to be treated. I have treated it multiple times and it doesn't go away. I'm supposed to treat it for two weeks again. When it works, they get all red and irritated.<br />
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I wrote about the <a href="https://medshadow.org/skin-cancer-efusex-cream/">side effects </a>of Efudex but I'm still going to do it. First I have to wait for the biopsied spots to heal.<br />
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Oh I forgot to say that the scleroderma to which she was referring was the hardening of my skin. <a href="https://bethematch.org/uploadedfiles/bethematchcontent/patients_and_families/life_after_transplant/physical_health_and_recovery/graft-versus-host_disease_(gvhd)/gvhd_treatment/np20893%20fast%20facts%20ecp.pdf">Without ECP, </a>it still seems to be OK, knock wood.Ronni Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036024135497392070noreply@blogger.com0