'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.

Feeling a little better

I have had two almost pain-free days, which is unusual and very welcome.

Sometimes I get a twinge in my tooth, and I panic that the toothache is coming back. It reminds me of the panic I also get when I feel a dart of heel pain – the first sign of the dreaded plantar fasciitis. Fellow sufferers know how long it takes to make this debilitating condition go away. Anyway, I no longer need to take oxycodone for my tooth, although I have taken Tramadol, a pain reliever that is a step down.

My legs also feel better, though it's the same thing – they still hurt sometimes. Yesterday at physical therapy Michael worked me pretty hard rather than letting me lounge on a table receiving heat, ultrasound and massage. Following doctor's orders, I intend to play tennis Thursday.

Intend is in italics because it was one of our vocabulary words today in class at the Literacy Project the last day before vacation. I have enjoyed this volunteer job helping to teach reading and writing to adults. I should have headed straight home, but I liked being in Northampton in the snow. Instead I went to the Haymarket and had a scone and coffee while reading the newspaper.

For a change of topic, I'm linking to a recent post I wrote for Newsmax on the many different ways my hair has grown in after each round of chemotherapy. It's funny – most people recognize me although I look a little different, but others look right through me. (This usually happens at the supermarket. Maybe they would look through me anyway.) At a gathering of past and present newspaper people a couple of years ago, a former co-worker actually asked me who I was.

Well anyway, click here if you want to read about how I sometimes say that my darker hair is my consolation prize from having had cancer.