The places I went: Canoe Club and dentist

Canoe Club courts

I couldn't decide if I was going to go running or go to tennis on Wednesday so I did what we used to do in the newsroom: shout out a question and take the advice of the person nearest you. In this case it was the construction guys. I had my running shoes and my tennis shoes and they said to go to tennis. So off I went.

Seriously though I had asked my nurse practitioner and she said it is unlikely that the virus will travel on a tennis ball. Still, the USTA guidelines from May say to: "Use your racquet/foot to pick up balls and hit them to your opponent. Avoid using your hands to pick up the balls." I said that to George and he said you don't have to touch a ball. Guess what? It's really hard to not touch a ball. I was never good at that move where you pick the ball up with your foot and racquet by bouncing it on the ground. I touched balls but didn't touch my face and used hand sanitizer in breaks. I think those guidelines came from the period when people were more worried about the virus sticking to a surface.

Canoe Club

There were five of us plus George. It was good to see friends that I had missed. I think it was OK. We stayed far enough apart from each other. You're not really supposed to congregate. In breaks, though, everyone just drifted to the usual spots in chairs around a table. I started to sit down but pulled a chair out. At one point, when we were doing a three on three drill, someone on my side rushed to the net and told the other two to come on up. I said I would just stay back, remembering the distance idea. She said we would still be far enough apart. I stayed back.

I had my third visit to the dentist. This time, unlike the previous times, there were people in the waiting room. Alternate seats were blocked off, and people were wearing masks...so I think it was OK, but afterwards I had a little freakout. Not a good time to have OCD.

I got there on time and expected to go in on time so as to minimize time around others. Later I talked to other people who said their dentist had them wait in the car until it was time. I would have left and gone outside except that I kept expecting to get called in. I waited 20 minutes.  I don't have any upcoming appointments, but for my next one, I'll ask to wait outside.

Still, routine care is going to continue happening, and not all offices are going to be able to have people wait outside. Later in the month, I'm going back to Dana-Farber, for a checkup and to meet my new doctor. I'm going to need to get blood work. They are not going to tell a whole bunch of people, some of them sick, to go wait on the street.

House work

My dentist has opinions. Actually, I think since he has been with me through everything, he cares about me. He said that I have lost too much muscle mass and I should go eat some protein! He said to go eat a steak. I don't do that very often. I don't weigh myself often, either, but I do think I have lost weight, due to the running. I am doing weight-lifting classes through the Y, especially the Livestrong classes twice a week, plus yoga, so I thought I was taking care of my upper body. It's not something I have been great at over the years during times when I've been running a lot.


 I went to Boyfriend's house and asked for protein. He made me some eggs. At home I tried making a smoothie with green stuff, protein powder, and fruit. It doesn't sound that hard, but for some reason I mess up my smoothies.

Here's something I wrote about all the side effects of my transplants. They actually call these after effects because side effects are talked about more in terms of more immediate reactions.

I'm happy to say that work is finally continuing on the house.

Local strawberries are here. Yay! I remember when they were one of the last things I was allowed to eat, after my transplants. Of course I had to write about it. I don't know if they are going to do strawberry picking this year. I have sweet memories of doing it with the kids. I think I might have liked it more than they did...but they seemed to be having a good time.

And to think this guy is a father now

Wandering around town, wondering when my treatments will start again

Leading the way at Bachelor Brook/Stony Brook Conversation area

It turns out that the trip to the dermatologist was worthwhile, because the spot next to my knee was indeed another squamous cell cancer. It was small enough and early enough that the biopsy took care of it, and I won't need to go back for another Mohs.

Since we last talked, I went to the dentist again. Everything that used to seem normal is now a bigger deal. The gremlin took my mouth guard, and I needed another one made so that I don't grind down my remaining teeth. Turns out that the one I lost was four years old, and you apparently need a new one every four years, so losing it was not a big deal.

I wasn't as nervous about going as I was the last time.

For somebody with a big mouth, I have a small-sized mouth, and he had to use a kid-sized mold on me. Maybe that is why the store-bought kind made me gag.

I wrote about ECP, the light therapy, having the unexpected benefit of improving my tennis game. It just came out, but I wrote it in the days when I was still playing tennis and getting ECP. The procedure is on hold, but every three weeks, Diane at the blood donor center calls to see if I am coming. I feel like I'm in the movie Groundhog Day. I tell her that Melissa said that until further notice I am not supposed to come. Then three weeks later I get a reminder call saying not to come if you are sick, etc., and then the call from Diane asking if I am coming. She said this was my last scheduled treatment and recommended I speak to Melissa about whether and when to start up again.

Ferry Street scenery

She said she didn't think you're just supposed to stop. I said I will check in with Melissa but also said I think they've totally forgotten about me. I was trying to be funny but I was half serious. I haven't had a blood test or appointment in a long time. Mine is not the only non-COVID care that is falling through the cracks.  But it is worse for those who are truly sick as opposed to people like me with chronic health conditions.

If I start back up, I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. I can't possibly reach out to the crazy driver pool. It is not ideal for me to drive myself round trip or to ask someone to drive me or to ask the usual suspects if I can sleep over. I told my friends I could drive myself and highly caffeinate on the way back, but they didn't think it was a good idea. I will have to do some consulting.

The other day, I took a nice social distancing walk with Katie. We went around the town's Bachelor Brook-Stony Brook Conservation Area and then walked up to McCray's. I haven't had ice cream in a while and enjoyed my mint chocolate chip in a cone. They had a line drawn at a distance from the window so people couldn't crowd around. It wasn't very crowded, so that was good. We sat at opposite picnic benches.

I might not make it to a beach this year. Maybe I will, I don't know. Things seem to change so quickly. The thought of not going to a beach, after spending summers in Atlantic Beach and going to the Cape most every summer in my adult life,  is a bummer. But Katie and I talked about how lucky we are to be in such a beautiful, uncrowded place.  When I go for a run, I often stop and say, "Wow, just wow," to the birds, of whom there seem to be more lately, or maybe it's to myself. Today I went six miles, before it got really hot. I started to walk my Old Dog in the morning, but it was too hot. She seemed to enjoy walking later in the day.

Dentist and dermatologists and a trip to Boston, oh my

Silverwood Terrace scenery

Well I made an appointment to go to the dentist. That is happening today. They said people are coming in. At the same time as getting my chipped tooth fixed, I might gather up the courage to say I lost my mouth guard. I must have thrown it in the wash with the sheets but I don't know what happened from there. Or maybe the gremlin took it.

But last week, instead of going to the dentist, I went to the dermatologist...in Boston.

This happened in the strangest way. There was a little dark, raised spot near my knee. To be honest, in a twisted effort to prove to myself that it wasn't melanoma, because it was darker than my squamous cell cancers, I picked at it. Yes, I know, that is weird and gross. I got left with a little scab that didn't go away. You can STOP here if you don't want any more details.

To continue, though, as I have said, I have three major dermatologists, and even more, if you count the ones I have seen when my regular ones aren't available. I showed it to the people at Mohs surgery back in the real world before the pandemic, and one of the doctors there said it just looked like a scab. Next, I had a Face Time appointment with one of my other dermatologists. She said that if I was coming in, she would biopsy it, but since nobody was going in for this kind of thing, we would just leave it alone. The Mohs people like to be in on the loop, and asked to see a photo. So I sent them a photo. They day that they got it – last Tuesday – I got a call from a nurse at the office. She said to come in the next day to get it biopsied. COME IN TO BOSTON? I asked. Yes, she said, come in at 3 p.m.

Naturally I was hesitant, as Boston is a hotspot. My friendly personal chauffeur was also not hot on the idea. He didn't want me to go. I do everything they tell me to do, so I was going to go, one way or another. It was out of the question to contact the crazy driver pool. I asked Katie. She said she would do it but that would undo all the work we have done in seeing each other at a social distance, because we're not in the same germ circle. Duh. I thought of driving myself, but I was going to get an excision, and a stitch, in my knee, so that wouldn't have been a good idea. My friendly driver took me.

The doctor was also going to do something about the non-healing spot on my thumb. So there would probably be two biopsies.

I made a phone call to a local dermatologist. I could come in but it would be a week before I could get an appointment. When things settle down I'm going to see if I can get a dermatologist at Cooley Dickinson, since it is in the same network, Partners, as Brigham and Women's.

Meanwhile, I sent a photo to my regular dermatologist and gave her the news that I was going in for a biopsy. She said it didn't look like anything serious. Still, my mind raced. I thought that someone telling me to go into Boston, on a day's notice, meant that they suspected something serious.

So the next day, off we went to Faulkner Hospital, in Jamaica Plain.

It was an easy drive, and quiet at the hospital. Someone came out from behind a partition and took my temperature via my forehead. Then another person passed me a mask on a long stick. I took off my mast and put on the new one. I was in the elevator with only one other person. The office was quiet, with nobody in the waiting room. The nurse said they were seeing about five people a day.

When Dr. Schmults came in and looked at the leg, she said it didn't look serious. She said some word that I can't remember, but after she biopsied it she said it looked either like a seborrheic keratosis or a mole that was traumatized. (Did she say a traumatized mole? I don't remember. Flash back to the picking...) She also took a nice little piece out of the knuckle on my thumb. When she came at me with the needle, I said the thumb was one of my least favorite places for anesthesia, due to the lack of fat. But I had forgotten how good she is at it. She does tiny little jabs instead of one big needle, so that after the first one you don't really feel it.

I haven't gotten the results.

Happy asparagus

The knee has one dissolving stitch in it, but the thumb doesn't have anything. It's hard to keep it dry, with all the hand washing. Yesterday it didn't look so good, so I put antibiotic ointment on it and kept making sure to put a dry bandage on it.

The knee didn't hurt at all afterwards. The thumb hurt a lot. I had to lay off typing for a day.

A couple of days later a went for a run. Maybe I shouldn't have done it, because it was too late in the day when I decided that I was up for it. It was hot, and I was dragging. Yesterday I decided that it was better to do a shorter distance well than to do a longer distance poorly.

The morning walks are nice. I go along the golf course and look at the trees in bloom. The golfers are out, making me wonder when tennis will come back. In tennis, there is concern about touching a ball that someone else has touched, and if the person has the virus without knowing it, then you getting it from the ball. Some people are saying to maybe just play singles. One friend said she heard that you mark your own balls and only touch those. It seems a little far fetched. A friend from the Canoe Club sent a funny video of different ways that people are playing tennis at home. We could hit a ball around in my driveway, but somehow the scenery there, with the dumpster and all, doesn't inspire me to want to do it.


I bought some plants from an outdoor sale on Route 47. My friend isn't happy about going around people, but I have to do some things, though nothing inside. I feel that outside is safe if people are wearing masks and it is not crowded. It fit all these criteria. On the way back, I passed several asparagus stands. I got a bunch from a wagon in front of a farmhouse. When I drove into the back to turn around, an old chocolate Lab named Bailey greeted me. A kid came out of the barn with two kittens in his arms. It felt normal to choose from some bunches of asparagus on the wagon and put my money in the box.

Little boosts.

Looks like a trip to the dentist might be in order

(Piece of) tooth on a tray

There are so many times I wish I could talk to my friend Patricia, aka PJ, my doppelgänger in many ways. Same disease, same cancer center, both mother of three kids, both runners and sometime klutzes, both readers and writers...and both having lost teeth.

And both highly attuned to how ludicrous some serious things could seem.

We could write about such things on our blogs and be sure the other would comment. We talked about who had lost the moth teeth (me) and who had the most falls (probably her).

"I know what you mean," one of us would say, when something crazy came up. We'd compare notes, make a joke, offer support.

It's hard to believe she's been gone since 2014.

PJ, if you're listening, something ridiculous has come up.

I need to go to the dentist in a pandemic. Waaaaaaaa!

To back up, my remaining teeth are a mess. Yes, my remaining teeth. I wrote in a post about chemotherapy and teeth that I lost 12. It's a strange state of affairs when you can't remember how many teeth you have lost. But I think I got it wrong and it is actually 13. My remaining teeth are fragile. The dentist put a patch on a front tooth with a little piece missing. The little patch fell off. He glued it back on. Last week when I was eating a tortilla chip I felt an extra crunch. The little patch (probably not the correct dental term) had come off again.

I looked up whether you can go to the dentist. It depends. Broken teeth is in the category of yes you should go. I haven't made the call. I will do it today, I think. Sometimes the day goes by and I don't know where it went. When it was marked by going to tennis or yoga or Starbucks or my other favorite coffee places, it had more structure. I am trying to give it some structure. I imagine that's a challenge for everyone.

On Mother's Day I had a nice socially distant visit with Katie and Joe. We put chairs out in the driveway, scenically located next to the dumpster, still here because all work on the house has stopped. I noticed when doing yoga in the morning that Katie and my mother were watching me from a frame next to my grandmother's candy jar, on top of my Aunt Gertrude's secretary with the secret drawer.

I got in a good run yesterday between rain showers. The mileage from my phone also includes a few miles of dog walks.

I am trying to be mindful about not doing it every day, out of fear of activating the dreaded plantar fasciitis or hurting my knees. We're lucky to be in an area where you can go for a good run or walk without coming across too many people. The route alongside the river up towards McCray's Farm is beautiful. The birds seem to be louder. I can say hello to The Canoe Club across the river. It's good to see water. I stopped at the bottom of the hill and turned around to go back. McCray's is open, and I thought that if I were to live boldly, I might bring money next time and stop for an ice cream.

Celebrating two momentous birthdays

You might think it odd that I thought tomorrow was my birthday while it’s really today, but you might cut me some slack if I reminded you that I have had five birthdays, and it’s hard to keep them straight.

Top, with my donor, Denise Ledvina, in 2011;
bottom, celebrating Marge's 100th birthday this weekend

Today is actually my re-birthday, the 10th anniversary of my fourth stem cell transplant. I didn’t realize it was today until my donor, Denise, sent a happy re-birthday email.

I think I knew at one point that I was off by a day, and I was going to fix it on the blog intro, but then it slipped my mind.

The momentous occasion took place around 9:30 p.m. on Jan. 30, 2009.

My re-birthday dessert

I double checked by looking back at my blog post from the day after the transplant.

It began, “I meant to post yesterday evening at my leisure while awaiting my cells, which I thought were due to arrive at the cell manipulation lab at 9:30 p.m. and would therefore come to me around 11. (Cell manipulation lab sounds so futuristic; I am grateful that in terms of scientific advances, the future is now.) Then Helen, my nurse last night, said they would be ready for actual infusion around 9:30 and that she would begin pre-medicating me at 9 with Ativan and Benadryl, at which point I got all discombobulated and couldn’t eat my dinner, let alone write.

"It’s not that you have to do anything to receive the cells; you just lie there and try to stay calm. But it feels momentous, especially when they hook you up to a monitor tracking your heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen saturation. Of course it also feels enormous because I know how important those cells are to me. The infusion took about 45 minutes and went smoothly most of the way while Helen watched the monitor and me.”

The rest of the evening did not go so smoothly. I wrote,

"The infusion had just about finished when I reacted, either to the cells or to a fever I was going to get anyway. I started shaking vigorously, and my heart rate went up. Helen gave me 25 mg. of Demerol, which didn’t stop the shakes. She paged a doctor who came in quickly. I got another dose of Demerol, more Benadryl, hydrocortisone and some Tylenol. Also they put me on oxygen."

Marge's birthday cakes

I was worried that the cells would not take, but as you can see, they did. I wouldn't be here without Denise, the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and The Gift of Life Bone Marrow Registry.

On Dec. 25th, 2008, in a post headlined Downhill all the way, I wrote, after I learned about my second relapse, that I thought it was the end of the road. I was thinking I wouldn't see my children finish growing up, wouldn't see my grandchildren.

I wrote about wandering over to 6A, where I would soon live, asking one of my old nurses, Myra, how I could go through chemotherapy and transplant again.

“Well, you have 48 hours to have your pity party, then you have to quit it and put on your fighting gloves,” she said.

It’s hard to believe it has been 10 years.

In this Philadelphia Inquirer story , I wrote about how Denise's life-saving donation, through The Gift of Life, was inspired by her desire to help the great jazz saxophonist Michael Brecker.

Another momentous event over the weekend was the celebration, on Sunday, of my Aunt Marge’s 100^th birthday. A group of us gathered in her apartment for a mid-afternoon party. It was a privilege to be there to mark the occasion and to see her looking so pleased, and so great. You can tell from the smiling faces in the photo that everyone was having a good time.

We had gone down to New York on Friday.

On the way, we had to stop at the dentist. I had catastrophized. I thought I had lost a chunk of my tooth and that meant yet another tooth was disintegrating, but I forgot that I had a filling in said front tooth.

So it was just a filling that had fallen out. He replaced it, and off we went.

View from theater seats

I wanted to go down to Little Italy to an old haunt, Puglia’s Restaurant, so we regrouped and off we went. The food was still good and the singing was still fun. We stopped in for a cannoli at the bakery down the block on Hester Street.

The next afternoon, we went to Lincoln Center to see “My FairLady,” starring Laura Benanti as Eliza and Danny Burstein as her father. It was loverly and magical.

On Sunday before Marge's party, there was brunch in Brooklyn and a walk (more loveliness) through Prospect Park.

Since getting back home on Monday, I've been a little under the weather, but not so much so that I didn't have room for my share of my re-birthday dessert with a couple of special people at Food 101 in South Hadley. 

More drama on the dental front

Another great Health Union illustration

Of all my posts that Health Union has shared on its Bloodcancer.com facebook page, so far the one on Chemo and Teeth, Not a Pretty Picture, Part 1, has garnered the most reaction. (I had to write it in two parts because there was so much to say.)

Readers said they could relate to losing teeth and spending money. Clearly I am not alone.

I started out by expressing my dread when a tooth chipped not long ago. I wrote,

I don’t have much dental real estate to spare. I have lost 12 teeth, one by one or two at a time. It’s possible that my dentist might be able to repair the tooth. But the teeth I lost were so fragile they could not be repaired when they became decayed and either cracked, chipped or even crumbled. When I felt that I was chewing on something that should not be there, and when I spit the tiny piece of tooth into my hand, I thought, “Oh no, not again.”

I ended up losing the tooth and needing another bridge.

I don't have dental insurance. The plan available to me was terrible. In general, dental insurance stinks.

I explained, "Chemotherapy causes dry mouth, which is bad for dental health since saliva helps prevent tooth decay."

Also, a compromised immune system during chemotherapy opens the door for bacteria to have a field day on your teeth.

After I wrote the above part of this post, I was eating a salad and felt something sharp in my mouth. I spit the jagged piece out. It looked like a piece of a tooth. But I couldn't figure out where it came from. I went to look in the mirror. It looked like I had a piece of food lodged between my two front teeth. I looked closer. What I thought was food was actually a HOLE where part of my tooth had been. I'm afraid I'm going to lose the tooth. It is in the worst place.

This happened yesterday. I got a dentist for two days later. Today I called to see if they had a cancellation. I had a toothache. They couldn't fit me in. I'm going tomorrow.

Did I attract some malevolent toothy force by writing about my teeth???


Today I forgot my troubles during some good doubles at the Bay Road Tennis Club.

Somehow or other, though, I whacked my left arm with my racquet.  Must have been a misguided follow through.

A big purple bruise appeared almost immediately. Either I'm very strong or I have very thin skin. At least my partner and I won 6-0. The other two wanted a (fun) grudge match. We ran out of time at 4-4. I didn't want to go out in the pouring rain, so I sat around for a while and watched a Pickleball game.

Three cheers for fake teeth and longterm friendship

Hiding behind chocolate mold

News flash: For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am able to chew on both sides of my mouth.

It was a big day when Dr. Badri Debian, of Holyoke Dental Associates, gave me my newest bridge a couple of weeks ago. For a while he had said I didn't need it because I still had enough teeth on my upper right to be able to chew on that side. It didn't seem so to me. I chewed so much on my left side that I wore down the bottom teeth and needed a bridge. But when I lost my thirteenth tooth last month on my right upper, he decided it was time.

I never knew that I would be spending so much time thinking about teeth, or lack thereof.

Friends asked how the bridge was glued in. I have a tooth in front, but not in back. For some reason this sounded funny, and we started cracking up.

So it turns out that I don't have a traditional bridge, which would be a fake tooth connected to two existing teeth.

A bridge supported by a tooth on one side is a Cantilever bridge, and that is what I have.

Here is another word that is new to me: a pontic. That is the technical term, or euphemism, for a fake tooth.  

I keep forgetting that I can use my right side now, so I still favor my left. It's not perfect, because I'm missing a bottom molar, so I don't have a great connection. 

Dr. Debian has my back. He gives me a good discount and is in my opinion, a mensch. But since I don't have dental insurance because dental insurance stinks for people in my situation, it might be good for the bite in my mouth but it takes a bite out of my bank account.

Anne with cacao pod

I'm behind on other news. My Vassar classmate Anne Outwater and I had an interesting visit to Taza Chocolate Factory, in Somerville. It was a busy couple of days. 

I crammed a lot in on that Wednesday, but when a friend (Anne) who lives in Tanzania says she is going to be in Boston and would like to visit a chocolate factory run by a fellow Vassar graduate, and it is the same day that you need to be at Dana-Farber at 4, and you have already promised to sub in a tennis group at 9 in the morning, what are you going to do except try to do it all?

Somehow it worked out. Getting there was crazy, though. As I neared my destination, I was thwarted by blocked-off streets. 

I later learned that it was because of the large public transit expansion affecting Union Square in Somerville. An employee from the chocolate factory talked me in. I almost gave up. But I got there on time for a little introduction and tour that included tasting a lot of stone ground dark chocolate of various textures and tastes. We learned that the higher the cacao levels, the more health benefits there are. Unfortunately I like milk chocolate better. But I'm learning to like dark chocolate.

I took a selfie with Anne but erased it because I had a big red mark on my nose, resulting from a zapping, or cryosurgery, on a precancerous spot. I conveniently displayed a mold by holding it over my nose. 

Afterwards we got in my car and went to Dana-Farber so she could sit with me while I got my blood treated. It was the only other time we would have together. Quite the difference from when we rode bikes around Prince Edward Island together and she placed a blue shield around us so that the dogs would not get us. 

Anne does not drive in Tanzania. I think I should have told her to close her eyes on the drive through Boston traffic. 

Anne has a Ph.D. in nursing and has an impressive job and title: Head of Department of Community Health Nursing at Muhimbili University of Health and Allied Sciences in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Before that, she was a medical officer in the peace corps. The nurses were impressed with her! She was also impressed by the nurses and interested in what they were doing. She got a quick lesson in ECP, or extracorporeal photopheresis for graft vs. host of the skin.

My compadres Larry and Lisa were also there. The three of us always come at 4 p.m. every other Wednesday. I don't know the name of the other man who is always there. Sometimes he is behind a screen. Due to traffic, we got there last, but I finished before Larry and Lisa, because they each use just one arm. I told Anne how it came about that I use two arms, one for drawing and the other for simultaneously returning. It was because one day Mark, my nurse for the day, came up and asked if I wanted to use two arms, and before I had a chance to balk, he put the second needle in.

Depending on where the nurse places the needle, I can sometimes use my right arm. But it was at an awkward place, so I couldn't. It was good that Anne was there to talk to. She was impressed with the nurses. When the procedure was finished, Mark walked Anne out to show her where to get the T. 

It was also a good thing I was going to Margaret and Nick's, because I was too tired to drive home.

My construction obstacles persisted, though. I have been to their house many times but got confused when getting off at the exit that I usually take off Route 128/95.  It looked different. I ended up where I didn't want to be and then had to circle around.

Margaret said the changes were due to something called the Add a Lane project. I was glad to hear I wasn't making it up and there was a reason for my confusion.

I had hoped that one of the doctors at ECP could remove the stitches from the Mohs surgery on a squamous cell cancer on my right temple. A doctor came over prepared to do it, but when he saw that it was running stitches, he said he couldn't; you need finer scissors and a better light. He asked Melissa to call ahead to the Faulkner Hospital Mohs Surgery Center to see if they could take me the next morning. He called it the Pregame. He said, in the meantime, to just go in the morning and assume they would see me. She texted me to ask if I could get there at 10:45. I was already on my way. Yay team!

The next day I drove home in the pouring rain. I went straight to a hair appointment that I had in Northampton. I don't have any construction-related explanations for getting there at the wrong time, 3 instead of 2. Getting out of my car, I couldn't open my umbrella. Getting soaked, I fumbled for my credit card to use in the meter. I dropped the card in the rain. I couldn't find it anywhere, so I thought maybe it was in my car. But I canceled the card anyway. This is a pain because a lot of things are attached to it.

The next day, I got a call from a man who said he found my card. He said he looked me up and found me via my website. He said he wanted me to know that he was a veteran and he wouldn't have tried to use the card. I thanked him profusely and said I had already canceled it. But it was nice to know that such a person existed.

Meanwhile, someone had gotten a hold of the number for my LL Bean card and put more than $2,000 in fake charges on it. The credit card company didn't catch it. I believe they should have. After I called, they removed all but one small charge. I told them it was also a fake charge. They said no problem, they would not charge me interest while they looked into it. They charged me interest and a late fee. I called and said to take it off. They said they would take it off and look into why there was a stray $58 charge on it...with interest. I said OK.

When I tried to use the card, it was rejected. I called to try to find out why. Of course as most people know, it is bad for your health to try to get through to a real person at a credit card company. You cannot just press zero. I yelled into the phone, agent, agent, agent. When I finally got a person, they said it was locked because I hadn't paid them the $58 even though it was in dispute.

They don't care, but I said that as soon it is resolved and I use my coupons, I'm going to cancel the card.

Sorry for the rant.

'Visiting' parents' bedroom, chewing over dietary recommendations

I dreamt I was in my parents' bedroom at 1200 Fifth Ave.

My father's bed was made, but you could see he hadn't slept in it. I looked over at his nightstand  and saw the framed black and white photo of his parents. I knew he was gone.

But my mother's bed looked recently occupied. The pale blue coverlet was on top. She hadn't covered it with her bedspread. So I knew she was around. But where? I couldn't find her.

It was part distressing, part comforting, kind of dissonant.

The day before I had replied to a leukemia patient wanting to know what a stem cell transplant was like. I said the infusion of donor cells itself was no big deal. It was just like getting blood and platelets. I didn't get into how sick you get during chemotherapy, but my dream picked it up.

That night I dreamt I didn't feel well. Someone came in and took my temperature. It was 105. Just like it really was on the night that my mother called every hour or so and the nurse assured her that she had wrapped me in cold sheets and I would be fine.

I also dreamt I had such a bad toothache that I needed to find an emergency dentist working in a hospital, but I had no idea how to find that person.

Today I go to the dentist to find out his plan for the chipped tooth.

On Sunday I went to see a nutritionist (yes, she works on Sunday.)

She said I should cut out sugar and dairy and that despite all the good stuff I put into it, I put in so much crap that it depletes my body of the good nutrients.

She said that the inflammation that I have from my graft vs. host disease of the skin would calm down if I cut out the sugar. She is a fan of maple syrup, though.

She said that most likely, sugar gave me cancer.

If you look that up, every other post says yes it does, no it doesn't.

I think my mistake was in telling her that after tennis, I go to Breezy Acres and get coffee cake.

She said I eat too much fruit and not enough vegetables.

I remember going through something like this a long time ago, before cancer, and telling my mother I was going to cut the sugar. She said please don't cut out the fruit, it has so many good things in it.

At Atlantic Beach, we loaded up with fruit from the fruit truck. It's part of my culture.

The nutritionist probably has a point about the coffee cake. I went one whole day without it, and I survived.

But seriously, it is summer and I'm going to keep eating local fruit. I will make an effort to cut back on it though, and when I go to get tomatoes or corn maybe I'll have to go to Dave's, or if I go to Evelyn's, avert my eyes from the coffee cake, but that might not work because the smell there is so wonderful.

Or maybe I'll cut back and get one sliver to have with my afternoon coffee, which I am supposed to cut out but that is not going to happen because then I won't be able to write.

I think she meant to cut it ALL out.

She is not a fan of the yogurt I have been eating in large quantities. I thought I was doing something good. It's very confusing.

I got some almond "milk," which might not be called milk for too long.

I guess I can try for a few weeks to adhere to it as much as possible, but in the back of my head, I hear my father saying, "Everything in moderation." He isn't saying, "Cut out all the fun stuff."

Also, I'm going to Wisconsin and I need to eat cheese.

It's summer, so what about ice cream? Maybe one scoop instead of two?

It can get old to call everything a First World Problem but when I get in a bad mood about this I do have to remind myself that it is a luxury to have this problem.

Kafkaesque time in dermatology land

Several weeks ago, I emailed my dermatologist with some questions and concerns. If I catch her at the right time, she often responds quickly. But if I don't, my email can quickly drift down to the bottom. She told me that if I didn't hear back, I should call, so that is what I did about a week ago.

I spoke to a nurse who is new to the practice. I gave her my list. She said she would get it to the doctor.

When another week passed, I called again (yesterday) and spoke to someone at the desk. She said that the best way to get in touch with the doctor is to email her.

"No, and no, no, no!"

I used to say this to my kids when I wanted to make a point. Although I didn't say it to the person on the phone yesterday, I wanted to. Instead I explained that I had already emailed, and then spoken to someone, and neither had worked.

So she patched me through to the regular nurse. I told her I wanted to know which creams, lotions or potions I should put on different kinds of spots and also said that I wanted to change my appointment in May to a regular checkup instead of a repeat PDT, or photodynamic therapy, as my doctor had planned, a departure from previous years when she has only done the painful "face fry" once a year, in the fall, when I am not outside as much as I am in the spring. (It's bad to be in the sun after it.)

"You're not high maintenance, are you?" she asked.

She said it was a joke and I knew it was a joke.

My answer was part joke and part serious.

"This is what happens when you have four bone marrow transplants and I'm trying to be a freelance writer but I spend half of my time following up!"

The practice, Brigham Dermatology, used to have a wonderful care coordinator on whom I could count to get things straight. I miss her because not only was she efficient, we had also become friends. One time when she helped me out in a pinch when I was in Boston and needed a suspicious spot looked at, I had to hang around and wait a while. I didn't mind because I was glad that she had squeezed me in, and I used the time to get her a little something for her desk. It is frustrating to have things run so smoothly and then turn into a bit of a free-for-all with nurse #1 who I spoke to last week apparently never getting the message to the doctor and my having to call again and explain the whole situation to the people at the desk and to nurse #2.

One of my problem areas is a new divot on my right thigh. After my last appointment with my primary dermatologist, the dermatologist in charge of my GVHD of the skin saw me in the hallway and graciously, on her lunch hour, took me into a room to look at the indent. She injected several tiny shots of cortisone into it and said if that didn't work, to use a cream that I used before, Clobetasol. Turns out I didn't have any, so I told nurse #1 last week that I needed a refill. She asked if I wanted cream or ointment. I said cream, which I had before. When I talked to nurse #2 yesterday, she said, oh, it is very expensive and your insurance doesn't cover it any more. Will have to wait for an alternative.

On my left thigh I have a lipoma (biopsied and deemed not problematic). Maybe I could suggest taking it off and using it to plug the hold on my right thigh. Or not. But at least I would be more balanced.

I could use my dermatologist's home email. She gave it to me, but I hesitate to use it unless it's especially pressing, say, for example, waking up in the middle or the crack of dawn to send her a photo of a spot that is freaking me out because I'm sure it is a melanoma. She is always reassuring, pointing out that for some reason bone marrow transplant patients tend to get squamous cells. I have had one basal cell (in my ear) and more squamous cell skin cancers than I can count.

Meanwhile I need to get to the dentist because my "teeth" fell out...well, actually, it was the temporary that he put in last week in preparation for getting three crowns.

I had been very careful and was just eating something soft – a croissant – when I had that bad feeling of something odd floating around in my mouth. At least it was not the nail that a friend found in her food when eating in the restaurant across the street from The Republican.

You never know what can happen.

What you don't want to hear in the dentist's chair

"CRAP," the dental hygienist said as she stuck that metal pokey thing in the back of my mouth yesterday.

The realization of all my dental nightmares flashed before my eyes.

"What?" I asked in a panicked tone.

She laughed and said she was sorry. She was just upset that she had forgotten to change the TV off the soap opera. She hates soap operas.

After rinsing, I told her that she had worried me along the lines of how a patient feels when, not fully asleep during anesthesia, they hear a doctor say "oops."

I looked up at the TV screen on time to hear a woman cry, "I'm never going to see my baby again!"

"OH NO!" I said.

"What?" asked the hygienist.

I told her it was just the TV.

The dentist's office is my "Cheers," where everyone knows my name. I have as much fun there as is possible. While we were waiting for Dr. Debian to come in and check my mouth, Leah gave me some pointers on the Words With Friends game that I had been playing while I waited. I had thought of a good word but then it would open up a triple letter combination.

Dr. Debian was pleased to hear that I am keeping my mouth guard in. Some of my teeth are already worn down some from grinding. I would have gotten the mouth guard sooner if I had known.

But the good news is that I had no cavities and was able to leave with my remaining 20 teeth intact.

A loose tooth, a big wave, and the meaning of it all

Another night, another nightmare back in the dentist's chair.

Did I say I lost 12 teeth? Yes, of course I did, and my subconscious keeps chewing on it. (Sorry not sorry about the pun.)

I dreamt the dentist was poking a pointy instrument inside of my lower lip, moving it around like he was looking for something. I didn't know what it was. Finally he fished out a big molar and held it up on a skewer for me to see.

It was my only remaining tooth on my upper left. I was extremely upset because I can barely chew on the right. He said not to worry and popped it back in place. I asked was he sure it would stay there. He said it would, and if it popped out again he could put it back. I was dubious. But I went on my way.

The way led to one of those big wave dreams. Maybe you have had them. I know some other people who have. I guess it is common because when I looked it up, I typed "what does a big wave" and it filled in "mean in a dream."

According to the author of a  blog about dreams, "If we look at water in our dreams as a symbol of our emotions and feelings, part of our inner world, then tidal waves can be like our emotions welling up and getting a little out of control." 

The writer, Amy Campion, continued, "Tidal wave dreams and tsunami dreams invite us to dive into our subconscious, then perhaps we can learn to swim or surf and enjoy the experience of being at one with our-self, of exploring our emotions.  If we are lucky, we may even learn to breathe under water.

In last night's dream, I was standing with my family against a sea wall when a big wave started rolling in. It was me, my mother, Katie, and two others. (I don't know who.) As the wave got closer, we all took a big breath and dove in. I did it like I used to do but would never do now because I'm not steady enough. I faced the wave and plunged under. I told Katie to do the same.

The water calmed and I popped up. Then my mother. Then the others. I looked anxiously for Katie, and then her head appeared out of the water.

Another wave was coming and I said to my mother, come on, let's move to higher ground.

So we all did. I think that was a pretty good ending.

What, me stress?

How many of you have a good side and a bad side of your mouth?

Probably not that many. I haven't talked about my teeth for a while, so, to recap (ouch, a pun), I will remind you that I lost 12 teeth, which obviously leaves me with 20. I don't have good contact on my right side, where I did not get a bridge, but I do have it on my left side. Getting the bridge there was a happy day because before I got it I could basically only eat mush.

Last week a piece chipped off a tooth on my left side, making it hard to chew, so now I am back to having two bad sides. I made an an appointment for Tuesday, which is as soon as I can get it, at which point my dentist is going to chastise me because I did not make the mouth guard he recommended getting from CVS.

He said the tops of my teeth are jagged because I have been grinding them.  I looked up the reasons for bruxism and they can include stress and anxiety. I don't know what I have to stress about. He wants me to wear the store-bought one to get in the habit and then he'll make me the expensive kind. But they're not covered by insurance and he doesn't want me to waste my money if I'm not going to wear it. I think I'll do it tomorrow.

Another small but bothersome thing is the spot on my face that the face burn from a few weeks ago did not get. Ellen, the physician's assistant, said she didn't like the look of it: raised and flakey like the squamous cell cancers I have had had. Dr. Lin said not to worry because the PDT would take care of it. My skin has peeled nicely but the spot is still there. It needs to be looked at.

Since I'm going this Wednesday for my blood thing and a checkup with Melissa, I called the dermatology office to see if I could pop in on Thursday. I called too late on Friday to get the message to Dr. Lin.The nurse said she would probably not get back to me until Tuesday. I said I needed to arrange for rides and asked if I could find out on Monday. She said probably not.

Jennifer (Dr. Lin) had given me her personal email a while back and told me to use it if I have a question. She likes to see photos, so with some difficulty I took a picture of the spot, which is on my left jawline near my ear. I emailed her and asked if someone could look at it next week.

In the subject line I wrote, Sorry to bother you at home....

She hasn't written back.

Hopefully it just needs to be frozen. It would be nice to know by Monday whether I can see someone so that I can arrange my rides accordingly. But mostly I hope it is not another squamous cell just sitting there.