- I'm gonna wheel Jamie in;
- Jamie's gonna give them a little blood;
- They're gonna give Jamie a lotta fluid;
- I'm gonna wheel him out;
- He's coming back here with me to Team Wedding HQ
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
"How happy I am to be finding such a supportive, nurturing family out here. I thought I had four sisters — clearly, I have many."
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
We believe in life.
Your life. We believe in living every minute of it with every ounce of your being. And that you must not let cancer take control of it. We believe in energy: channeled and fierce. We believe in focus: getting smart and living strong. Unity is strength. Knowledge is power. Attitude is everything. This is the Lance Armstrong Foundation.
We kick in the moment you’re diagnosed. We help you accept the tears. Acknowledge the rage. We believe in your right to live without pain. We believe in information. Not pity. And in straight, open talk about cancer. With husbands, wives and partners. With kids, friends and neighbors. And the people you live with, work with, cry and laugh with. This is no time to pull punches. You’re in the fight of your life.
We’re about the hard stuff. Like finding the nerve to ask for a second opinion. And a third, or a fourth, if that’s what it takes. We’re about getting smart about clinical trials. And if it comes to it, being in control of how your life ends. It’s your life. You will have it your way.
We’re about the practical stuff. Planning for surviving. Banking your sperm. Preserving your fertility. Organizing your finances. Dealing with hospitals, specialists, insurance companies and employers. It’s knowing your rights. It’s your life. Take no prisoners.
We’re about the fight. We’re your champion on Capitol Hill. Your advocate with the healthcare system. Your sponsor in the research labs. And we know the fight never ends. Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life. This is the Lance Armstrong Foundation. Founded and inspired by one of the toughest cancer survivors on the planet.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
one egg, fried in real butter, salted, peppered, and flipped in between two pieces of toast spread with Duke's mayo and a swipe of French's yellow mustardjust went down easier than anything else I've seen pass Jamie's lips in the past week. And that includes Gatorade and Jell-O. I also have a fridge and pantry filled with the makings for jambalaya, taco salad, spaghetti & meatballs, barbecue chicken, hamburgers, Chicago dogs, 11 more fried egg sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles, and big bowls of Cap'n Crunch. The same eight to 11 pounds have been dropping off and reappearing on Jamie's frame since round one of chemo. These stats are greeted by our nurses (and me) with equal disdain and excitement, depending on which side of the median they fall. I've listened to Tess and Wendy encourage Jamie to eat, eat fat, eat sugar, just eat and eat as much as possible. And I've seen his gills turn green when I've encouraged the same munching, but in the wrong moment. I entered this treatment adventure with many fears and very few preconceived notions. But, my biggest misconception and mistake was somehow confusing chemo with Cuervo, thinking that one would (or could) somehow build up a tolerance to the infusion of poisons much like one does to the ingestion of potent potables. Might have something to do with simple naivete coupled with wishful thinking. Might have something to do with a long history of feeling poisoned on random Saturday, Sunday (or Thursday ... or Tuesday) mornings and that being my strongest frame of reference to overwhelming and insurmountable nausea. Maybe. It could go either way. What I've learned -- and feel more than a little foolish for expecting otherwise -- is that chemotherapy, particularly the aggressive badass version assaulting Jamie's system, has quite the cumulative effect. It has not been easy to see my husband's vibrant glow and lusty appetite for the richly layered flavors of both well-aged steaks and Scotch disappear. It has not been easy to see his skin pale, his pace slow, and his cuisine limited to liquid protein and well-chilled electrolytes. It has not been easy to hear that although injections are boosting his white cell count, his red cell count is shot and anemia is unavoidable. So forgive my excitement over the menu items listed above. Forgive my embracing real butter, real eggs, real sugar, white pasta, whole milk, and a big ol' mess of all kinds of trans-fatty things for which I've learned substitutes. Forgive me if, along with the 10 or so pounds my husband keeps losing and finding, I've found a good five to seven that aren't seeming to budge right now. Forgive me, if right now, part of the whole taking-care-of-myself-so-that-I-can-take-care-of-others includes indulging my own cravings for the food that's earned the label of "comfort" for a damn good reason. You'll forgive me, because I have. (And -- when a little bit down the road, I ask for your support as I whip myself into a better shape than I started with so I can keep up with Jamie when his healthy ass is up and running again -- I think you'll give it to me.) That entire menu up there? The one that that looks like what Harold & Kumar would eat if they didn't go to White Castle? It all may not make it onto Jamie's plate over the next two weeks. But some will, and the idea of each of them at least sounds appealing to him. And that has me feeling more -- much more -- than a little verklempt.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
"Hey! Quit whining about how your throat-head-right-eye-tummy-left nostril-lower-right-earlobe-and-your-weird-little-pinky-toe hurts.
I. Have. Poison. In. My. Veins.
No, not a bad 80's hair band with a lead singer currently making money by letting VH1 film skeevy, unemployed, clear-platform-heel-and-bad-weave-wearing-skanks-with-vomit-breath stick their tongues down his bandanna'd, guylined, suspected-collagen-lipped throat.
No. POY-suhn. P-O-I-S-O-N. POISON. In my veins. Yeah.
And you don't hear me bitching."
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
She's got that right.
Monday, July 13, 2009
As an added incentive, a donor has pledged to give $30,000 if we can collect 30,000 signatures before the end of the Tour. I'll send these signatures to world leaders after the Tour de France and pressure them to make cancer a priority in their own countries. It’s our best chance to push for better treatment, more funding for cancer research and access to care for everyone around the world. When you sign the declaration, you'll be able to dedicate that action to a or caregiver who has inspired you. I dedicated my signature to my mom, who stuck by me -- and fought alongside me -- throughout my cancer fight. Who will you dedicate yours to?So now, really, what are you waiting for? Go add your name. If you've already added your name, click on that nifty yellow link on the bottom and send it to a friend, or two, or 20. If you'd like to create a page for someone else, you can click the nifty red link at the top and do that. My goal was to get 25 names on the page, but now you've awakened the overachiever in me (she doesn't sleep very soundly). Now I want to see Jamie's name in that upper right margin under "Top Dedications." In the time I've been writing this post, two more signatures have landed on J's page. See? I know my peeps rock. And I really, really, really do dig that about you.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Right now, Lance Armstrong is dedicating his ride in the to the fight against cancer. And after the race, he'll send this dedication book -- with your signature -- to world leaders and pressure them to make cancer a priority in their own countries. It's our best chance to push for better treatment, more funding for cancer research and access to care for everyone around the world.Check it out. Add your name. That's it. It takes just a second, doesn't cost a thing, and will make you a part of a big worldwide team trying to ride this trip out and come out better on the other side. You'll do it. I know you will. You've got that inner badass just like we do. And I dig that about you.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
IT'S ABOUT YOU.Lance is just one person. He can't fight the global cancer epidemic alone. So he asked artists, other athletes, survivors and writers to join his peloton. Now he's asking you. What's your bike? There are many ways to get involved and make a difference. How will you help?© 2009 NIKETHE ROAD IS OPEN. WHAT WILL YOU SAY?Own a piece of the road at the Tour de France. Write your message and it will be sent to the Nike LIVESTRONG Chalkbot. What words of hope, inspiration and encouragement will you share with the world?© 2009 NIKE
"Welcome home Jamie. I hope Tilly gives you the welcome you deserve. You are in our hearts and prayers. I am so glad JC has an uncle he can look up to for his strength and courage. We love you!"
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A round goes off, we take our swigs and holler a hearty "WOO-HOO!" their way. They think (or so I like to think), "OK, those old farts are gonna be cool." Then a real old fart (who, surprisingly, is younger than we are) comes outside and throws off a few passive-aggressive huffs and puffs, only to be ignored. She (it's always a she) even walks over and says something to the teenagers, and then arms crossed, head down, still huffing and puffing, she radiates bitch-energy as she skulks back to her house.There's a pause in the show and we think that maybe the kids have bowed to young-old-fartista's will. Now I know they're thinking, "Crabby old fart," because we're saying, um, thinking, it, too.But, no. They're just stockpiling whatever mini-munitions they have left in a pile in the center of the cul-de-sac. One by one, their cars fill up and drive away. We notice, however, they've only barely driven outside the neighborhood gate and pulled over to the side of the main thoroughfare, still a good vantage point.When just one vehicle and two kids are left, our suspicions are confirmed. Ready ... driver starts the engine. Set ... passenger is poised at the end of a fuseline of sparklers. GO! Match is lit, dropped to the sparklers, and passenger hops in car, which pulls up even with our yard (I told you they knew we were cool) to watch the fuseline burn toward the pile'o'pops.And ... BOOM! HISS! CRACKLE! SNAP! POPOPOPOPOPOP! SSSHHHHCCCCOWWWW-OW-OW-0W! (that's what it sounds like to me; feel free to suggest alternate spellings below ...)The finale!We cheer! The kids beside us cheer! The kids on the road cheer!Just as it ends, a chorus of car horns starts up and they speedily retreat ... probably to buy more fireworks (it's only 10 p.m.) and go to someone else's neighborhood (the night is young) and piss off some other old fart (they're everywhere, you know).
"Twenty, 30 — hell, if you're lucky enough to keep a laugh in your heart, 40 or 50 — years from now, you'll learn that walking into your backyard, holding hands, sipping on beer or soda (or bourbon); watching fearless teenage boys impress breathless teenage girls; oohing, ahhing, and woo-hooing while the grumpy neighbors harrumph wa-a-a-a-a-y before their time; telling each other stories of summers long ago, stories you've heard already, but love to hear again and again because of the twinkle in the eyes and dimples in the cheek of your storyteller; kissing in the moonlight before going back in the house ... You'll learn. You'll learn there is nothing better to do than just that."