Wordless Wayback-Wedding Wednesday

Color Me Happy

It doesn't take much to make me giddy.

I can be wonderfully complex, but at heart, I am a very simple girl pleased by very simple, sentimental, things.

A quick sampling:

• a yellow No. 2 pencil
• a star-filled sky
• a cold morning
• Tilly's body wag
• Mr. J's smile

I could go on (and on). But I will keep it simple.

Today is a good day. I got all the above, all before noon, and then something more: a phone call with a cheerful voice saying my biopsy was benign.

Imagine a canary-yellow sun in a cornflower-blue sky over a singing, smiling, carnation-pink-ribboned-ponytailed girl with her scarlet-red-heart-shaped joy.

Can you picture it? 'Cause I can. I can hear it.

And it sounds like YAY.

I'll Trade My Grain For Your Grain

Hi. Blue-gel-thingy here.

Halfglassistan is under attack and I am the smartest object in the kingdom right now. Which is saying a lot. Because even on a bad day, that HalfGlass chick is generally one smart cookie.

Oops. Looks like those smart cookies just got tossed.

Time for me to tend to Princess Funky McFunkenstein. And don't tell her I called her that — she is a royal pain on days like this.

Blue-gel-thingy OUT.

Weather is Beautiful, Wish I Were Here

Oh beach, how I miss you, old friend.

litchfield beach, sc, image ©2009 virtual tourist

Wordless "What's Up YOUR Butt?'" Wednesday

get your

 : (∞) @

early detection saves lives

Scanxiety Subsiding* (*or, let's get this over with already)

So. Here we are. That much closer to the other side.

High scanxiety has been replaced with "Meh." Not quite nervous. Yet not quite not.

If you've been paying attention, you know that:

1. Mr. J had his first post-chemo scan 
   
2. Mr. J had his first post-chemo victory 
   
3. Miss Me had a few scans of her own scheduled
   

Halfglassistan did not have any major celebrations for any but the big bad J-man's scan. In the category of holidays, I'd say All-Clear Chemo Day would be like the Fourth of July. Fireworks. Nationwide business closings (you did get the day off, didn't you?). Parades. Hot dogs and ice cream. Good times. Kind of like my birthday.

My tests? 

More like Arbor Day. You've heard of it, but you don't get the day off. There are no special decorations, no greeting cards, no special treats. There are a few curious facts, though, that could come in handy if you ever find yourself playing Early-Detection Trivia (What? It could happen. Pay attention.). Did you know:

1. Even if you no longer have a cervix thanks to Hurricane Hysterectomy that hit TWHQ in '06, you still need to be screened every year to make sure cervical cancer doesn't return?
2. Even if the suspicious boobie bump you had examined seven months ago by a gyno, mammogram tech, ultrasound tech, radiologist, and surgeon (The last two, simultaneously. I had quite the popular ta-ta that day.) hasn't changed—and you know it hasn't changed, because you religiously check your girls every month—you still need another ticket for two to mammogramapalooza this year?
3. Even if you know that those (not little) cramps you're feeling are funky little functional cysts on the funky functioning little ovaries that rode out Hyster '06, and that going back on birth control pills (Ironic, no?) will shrink them, you still need to let them poke around with an ultrasound, get dressed, and hear "Well, you know your body, don't you?" while you pocket a prescription for BCPs.

And it's all good—I am grateful I have a conscientious girlie-doctor. But other than that, life goes on pretty much the same (You didn't get the day off, did you? Sheesh, even I worked those days) around those tests. 

Except tomorrow's test. Everything stops for this one.

Not that the rest of them were glamorous, but this one is the most decidedly unsexy of all. There's no way to cute it up, no way to make it fun, no way to make you laugh about this one. I only have to give you part of its name and I guarantee you'll have a physical reaction. And please don't share whether it was your face or another group of muscles that cinched up.

It begins with col- and ends with -onoscopy.

It begins with hell and ends with drugs.

And, hopefully this time, it will begin with nada and end with nada.

Because I have a few more interesting pieces of Early Detection Trivia. 

1. Did you know that even though 50 is the age for a baseline colonoscopy, your family history may warrant an early look? 
2. Did you know that different cancers follow different patterns?
3. Did you know that the fact that the grandfather you never knew died an old man, but an old man with colon cancer; that his son, your uncle, was diagnosed with the same disease before 50; and, that your dad has had several benign growths removed flashes a big neon "Really?" in your doctor's eyes, even if you're all "really?"
   

As you've probably guessed, I have a very conscientious general practitioner, as well. And I am beyond grateful for a "just-in-case" approach to testing.

Because it was that GP who recommended that I go tell a gastroenterologist about my family history, just in case. And it was that gastro-guy who said, even though you're only 35, let's get a baseline, just in case. 

And, as uncomfortable as it was, I am glad that I did it, just in case. Because it was that same gastro-guy who said, "We have good margins" after the biopsies on the two rather large, given my only 35-year-old body, stage 0 adenocarcinomas removed during my just-in-case colonoscopy.

I've had one clean test since then. And if tomorrow's is clear, it will be much longer than two years until I have to have another.

Today is not fun. At all. And tomorrow won't be either—my body doesn't respond well to anesthesia "lite"—so, I'm going all the way under. Unfortunately, my body doesn't like that either, so I'll likely be ill when I wake up. And, the last two times, I haven't had much fun the day after la scopa de colon.

So, for this test, Halfglassistan is declaring a three-day holiday. Starting ... NOW.

You spend it however you like. I, however, will be making like I'm Katie Couric.

And I will do it gladly. Just in case ...

Girl Interrupted

This jackass IS everywhere.

Wordless Woo-Hoo Wednesday

Amen and Thank You. Again.

Woo. To. The. Hoo! 

Mr. J's first post-chemo scan is clear.

Which means:

• He is officially not in treatment
  
• He is officially under observation
  
• Scans every three months this first year
  
• Re-evaluation after year one
  

I don't know what Samuel L. Chemo did or did not do with any little rogue cancer cells that may have shown up inside of Mr. J. 

I don't want to know the details, I just want to know the job's been done.

Which means?

I'll choose badass in a fight every freakin' time.

High Scanxiety

Team Wedding is the poster family for early detection right now. Or—at the very least—detection.

On our not-so-social calendar for the next two weeks:

Mr J: First post-chemo scan tomorrow

Me: The feeling and the looking and the (oh yes) scoping of my various bodily curiosities that need checking to confirm that while still curious, they are also still benign. Or absent. I'll take either. (HEY! I am so awesome, even my insides are interesting ... Yeah, I'm not buying it any more than you are ... If I could go back and choose, I'd pick boring, pristine, healthy-as-a-horse body parts every time.)

Top priority in TWHQ, however, is that number one item up there. In fact, it's the only thing on the list for the next 24 hours.

Today Casa HalfGlass is all abuzz with the low hum of we're-just-chillin'-because-there's-nothing-we-can-do-except-pray-believe-and-hope-for-the-best just like we've been doing all along.

I'm thinking we'd better pace ourselves. I had forgotten how utterly exhausting doing nothing but waiting could be.

Never Forget

© 2001 FDNY Photo Unit - All Rights Reserved

Don't Stop Believin' ...

Cat Con has been holding out on me.

That's the only explanation I can come up with that I had not experienced the joy of "glee" until FOX rebroadcast the pilot last week.

I watched it, and just like that — with jazz hands — I was hooked.

Last night as I was watching the new season premiere of glee(!) emphasis added by me(!) and wondering how I had lived this long without it, I had a flashback:

One night, last spring, Mr. J and I are downstairs solving some crime with either the CSI crew in Vegas, the BAU team from Quantico, or the SVU team in NYC. (Our expertise is unrivaled, and my cell number is on all the top alphabet forensic and/or profiler teams' speed dial. But you didn't hear that from me. It's a secret. My other alter ego is similar to Garcia in the FBI tech lab. But brunette. Yet still wildly attracted to Shemar Moore. Ssssh.)

So-o-o-o-o, this night last May, we're all intent on saving mankind from some depraved mind, when I hear what sounds like music and dancing from the upstairs bedroom. I look over at J, but he's strung out on Phenergan, and of no use to me in any of the evening's investigations — including the one I'm getting ready to conduct in my own home.

I mute the TV, and just a beat later, the music and dancing stops. I turn the TV back on, it starts back up. I'm all "what the ...?" Tilly's all "what the ...?" Jamie's all "where's my Gatorade?" Hmmm.

I get up and get J a fresh bottle of G, and Tilly and I scamper (what? I can't scamper?) up the stairs to see what's going on. About halfway up, I hear the music and the dancing stop, and the sound of someone hopping on the bed.

I stick my head in the bedroom door, Tilly trots in jumps up on the bed where Cat Con sits all innocent-like, reading the latest issue of Cosmo, and looking at us like "what the ...?"

"What the hell are you doing up here?" I ask her.

"What the hell does it look like?" Cat Con says. "Reading."

I give her an "oh-really-Princess-ADD?" look, and she says, "OK, looking at the pictures."

"What's all the noise?" I ask and am treated to a "what-noise-you're-in-your-40s-now-and-quite-frankly-acting-like-it-Princess-Snarkarella" look.

So I go back downstairs. It starts up again, and I could have sworn I heard Journey (not usually in Cat Con's repertoire) up until around 10 p.m. And then it just stops.

It occurs to me now that Cat Con must have been watching the first episode of glee(!) that night. 

I should have known. May in South Carolina is much, much too warm for leg warmers.

glee logo ©FOX Broadcasting Company

Wordless Wednesday

It's Been A Hard Day's Night

... and I've been working. With the dog (beside me).

But, it's been quite the productive 24 hours. And I like that. I do.

Ah, sleep, you old frenemy, you. 

You tease me mercilessly, but — I must admit — this whole withholding-favors-thing you've got going on has always worked on me. Now that I've crossed off everything on that list you planted in my brain, can I get some love from you?

Straight-Up Pizzazz Included

Labor Day holds a different meaning for me this year.

Instead of taking a break from the daily grind, I'm yearning for it. I miss being part of the workforce. I miss being part of something larger than myself. I miss having my opinion sought out and valued. I miss having unarbitrary deadlines.

I could go on (and on, and on ...), but I know myself well enough to recognize what I'm doing typing this post (I can be quite the professional crastinator) and shall stop. Now.

Time to go into all-around general awesomeness mode — and find someone who wants my kind of genius on their team.

Closer to Fine

If last weekend was close to normal, then this one is inching ever closer.

It's opening weekend for college football, which ranks just behind (barely) Christmas, and just above my birthday, the Super Bowl, Team Wedding's anniversary, NFL draft day and the Fourth of July.

Yes. Yes, those are in the correct order.

And the TW anniversary is of our first date, not our nuptials.

Which was at a football game. The date, not the nuptials. However, nuptials were scheduled around college ball. And one of the last days of our honeymoon did just happen to be almost two years after that first date. And the same weekend in the NFL schedule. And we did spend it back in those same seats (yup, that's us up there looking like newlyweds in the Georgia Dome).

So, yeah. Yeah. Football's kind of big deal around here.

And yesterday found us starting the day with Bloody Marys, slowing down with beer and eating something out of the crock pot (Jambalaya. Too early for chili.) while watching every game possible.

Was Mr. J moving slower than usual? Yeah.

Did he drink less (oh, you don't even know) liquor than usual and a lot more ginger ale, H2O, and Gatorade? Yeah.

Was the jambalaya a lot less spicy (again, you don't even know) than usual? Yeah.

Did Mr. J fall asleep long before I did, not even catching the end of the left coast game and need me to wake him to tell him who won? And did I wake up before he did this morning and put the coffee on and bring him a cup? Yeah. And, yeah.

But—did we yell, laugh, clap, dance and sing just as much as usual?

Yeah. Yeah, we did.

In fact, the most not-normal thing about opening weekend is that South Carolina won their game and Georgia lost theirs. Crap.

We Interrupt Regularly Scheduled Programming For This Important Message From TNN

This is Tilly, CEO of Tilly News Network (TNN), with a breaking story.

Actually, this news is not news, but we at TNN have been too engrossed in what we are getting ready to report as news to have reported it when it actually was news.

Got that? Good. There won't be a repeat explanation, so if you didn't follow that, you are SOL. And with that carelessly tossed out colloquialism, it should also be noted that most journalistic conventions will be hereby disregarded during the activity we are getting ready to report.

'Cause we just don't care about being professional and what-not. Clearly.

So we now go live to Team Wedding Headquarters with this urgent (yeah, it's late, so what) announcement:

Football supersedes everything in TWHQ.

EVERYTHING. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. EVERYTHING.

Even cancer.

Now you know.

Go Dawgs!

A Legend In My Own Mind

Cat Con showed up one day last week to multi-task for me. She does the laundry here at TWHQ. Frankly, she is as slack about it as I am, but I hate doing it that much. Enough to make my imaginarybest friend do it.

Mr. J was the chief domestic engineer before going and getting cancer and needing to move to the first floor. The laundry room is on the second floor. Coincidence? I think not. Great! Way to ensure that laundry never rarely sometimes only in cases of no underwear and clean towels gets done.

So, of course, Cat Con was singing. The Beatles popped up in a three-song set on my player. Which had the randomizer set. Random? I think not. I think it was a sign from the rock star gods that Cat Con was to kick it.

So she did. Warmed up with "Let It Be." Got slow and soulful with "Yesterday." And belted out "Hey Jude," right down to all the "judee-judee-judee-judee-judee"s and even had the crowd waving their arms back and forth to all the "na-na-na-nananana-nananana-he-eey-jude"s.

Wait. What? Ye-e-e-e-s, there was a crowd. On the second floor of TWHQ. In the laundry room. (Was there a crowd? What the hell kind of a rock star do you think Cat Con is?)

Worn out from that jamming set, the randomizer went off spinning in search of something equally awesome. In the absence of music, Tilly had taken the opportunity to run an obstacle course over, around, and through the piles of laundry, running to the bed and taking flying leaps in between each pile run. (The crowd loved it. Really.)

With Beatles on the brain, a riff from "Baby, You Can Drive My Car" popped into Cat Con's head because it fit Tilly's pace perfectly: "be-beep, be-beep, YEAH!"

So we've got a Tilly running, jumping, leaping at a manic pace. Cat Con is at her loudest pitch with all the "be-beep, be-beep, YEAH!"s. Tilly begins to harmonize with a few barks, and just as she's ready to vault into the sea of fans for some crowd-surfing — (YES, THERE'S A CROWD. sheesh) — I hear Jamie call out from downstairs.

JAMIE: "Are you OK?"

ME: Silence

THE CROWD: Silence

CAT CON: Silence

TILLY: Panting

JAMIE: "CATHLEEN?"

ME: "What?"

JAMIE: "Are you OKAY?!? What's going on up there?"

ME: "Yeah ..."

THE CROWD: Silence

TILLY: Panting

CAT CON: "I'm singing!"

JAMIE: "What?"

ME: "Umm..."

CAT CON: "I! AM! SINGING!"

JAMIE: "Are you sure?"