Of Scars and Spring

Many good things happen on the first weekend in May:  Decoration Day is always observed in the part of Tennessee where my extended family is from.  The Maryland Sheep and Wool festival is celebrated in Maryland.  And in 2012, the first weekend in May will mark the end of my chemotherapy.  The last of four treatments will have occurred on Friday the 4th.  This is definitely something worth celebrating, though the residual effects will continue for another few weeks.  I look at it as the end of Phase 2 (Phase 1 having been surgery).  Phase 3 will begin in June with 33 treatments of radiation, one per weekday until complete.  The final phase, Phase 4, will commence after that with five years of taking aromatose inhibitors.

A link was posted on one of my forums the other day that I felt I should share with you.  I will warn you that these images are not for children, and that they are painfully graphic.  The Scar Project, whose subtitle “Breast Cancer is Not a Pink Ribbon”, echoes my sentiments exactly.  It shows the reality of breast cancer, and I hope will help multitudes understand that breast cancer has a lifelong impact on its survivors.  At the same time, these photos are hauntingly beautiful, capturing spirit and emotion as well as body.  I am particularly taken by the “cover” image,  a bold reaffirmation of life.  If you are ready to be inspired yet sobered, please click on the images link at  The Scar Project.  Then encourage the women in your life to get mammograms on a regular basis.  I am grateful to the women who agreed to model for these images.

Meanwhile, this is what Spring looks like through my back window today (click to embiggen):

And though it sounds unusual to speak of snow right now, I am pleased to say that my Snowbird sweater is finished and blocking!  I used Rowan Silk Tweed in a very dark forest green that has flecks of lighter green in it.  The yellow dots you see are, of course, pin heads.

This was a fun knit, though long.  The design begins by knitting two separate tabs which eventually become the back collar, and these are attached to the top of the sweater, which is then knit downward as a raglan.  Sleeves are knit downward as well, and then seamed before you continue with the main body.  The pattern is well written and I definitely recommend it.

Meanwhile, in the quilting arena, I’m well into the first block of the Roses of Remembrance quilt, which I am doing as a Block of the Month.  This first block has an inordinate amount of bias, and is very tedious.  I’ll be glad to get that part out of the way.  Here is my progress, followed by a photo of what the first block will look like when finished:

The beautiful Rams and Yowes blanket was knit expertly for me by Sigrun, a dear friend from my Ravelry group.   Five other friends helped fund the project, and this little blanket keeps me warm all the time as I sit in my little spot and knit or sew.  So here I am, a little older and a whole lot wiser, cuddled up in friendship and support and wearing a gray wig.

Passing The Time

I saw a movie once (I have a terrible memory for names of movies and actors) about three people and a monkey who go somewhere in a spacecraft.  This journey takes around three years, so the plan is that the people will be in stasis for the journey and the monkey, as part of a scientific experiment, will be awake.  As it turned out, the monkey was accidentally put into stasis and one of the guys was not.  For three years he had to entertain himself, and he did it marvelously, getting more and more creative out of sheer boredom.

I am not bored, but this is the first time in a long time that I’ve had this much time to fill, and I keep thinking of how the guy on the spaceship entertained himself.  As I come up through my Algernon cycle and begin to feel better, the activities I tackle become increasingly more involved, both mentally and physically, but I always have to keep in mind that time is a gift and that the next day or next week I might not feel like doing whatever I can do today.

Chemo treatments are halfway over, I am bald, and just four days ago I had no white blood cells left.  Therefore I am sequestered from the world; I don’t go out and nobody except for my husband comes in, because I have no defenses against the most innocent-looking germ.  I am on antibiotics to help my system fight any germs that may slip in, and the lesson learned is that I will once again get a shot of Neulasta after my next chemo treatment. (Neulasta was given for the first treatment but I experienced such a high level of bone and joint pain from it that my oncologist felt it was worth trying to do without it.  I give him many points for that, even though it didn’t work.)

Much of my time has been spent with George (and Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Saint-Saens and Arthur Brown), while M coaches from afar.  My rusty fingers petulantly refuse to play a passage perfectly, but as I remember how to practice they are beginning to respond, grudgingly, and the melodies that come out of this piano are surpassingly beautiful.

For my knitting fix, I am focusing on Snowbird by Heidi Kirrmaier, an interestingly constructed cardigan knit from the top down that seems to look good on just about anyone who knits it.  What I like about it is that the sleeves are completed (and completely attached) early on, so once I get through the lower portion of the body, I will be finished except for attaching the back of the collar.

Snowbird in Progress

And in other news: quilting.  If you have followed my blogs for a while, you’ll know that I do enjoy the quilting, though I’ve never completed an entire quilt.  I love the gathering of fabrics, the planning, the math, the vision.  But I’ve never been able to follow through and complete a project.  Why is this?  Maybe it’s because I don’t have local buddies who are quilt fanatics, who will urge me on and inspire me.

Regardless, I reviewed my quilting projects, got out my quilting books and decided that if I am to finish a quilt “someday” then someday must begin now.

This got me to thinking about the “good old days”.  In the old days, women weren’t expected to work and the economy didn’t require it.  If they chose, they could stay home and cook and quilt and sew and knit.  In the old days, we didn’t have the Internet.  All of our friends were people we had actually met.  In the old days, if we ran out of a supply we had to actually go somewhere, interact with people, and buy it at a real shop.  And then a little whisper of a  thought struck me:  ”in the old days, you’d be dead.”  So I now tell myself to appreciate the time we live in now, find ways to make and keep friends whether local or online, and keep the old traditions alive that still have meaning.

Here is the flower garden (English Paper Pieced) I started, still in it’s handy tote with all fabrics and templates:

Flower Garden in Progress

And the Seven Sisters (also English Paper Pieced) based on Civil War reproduction fabrics:

Seven Sisters

Here’s a Papercut applique block based on one of Elly Sienkiewicz’s Baltimore Quilt blocks.  Freezer paper is used on top of the applique fabric and seams are cut away just ahead of where you are needle-turn appliqueing.

And another applique block in progress, Baltimore Album style, called Pansies and Forget-Me-Nots.  I’ve not settled on these fabrics yet, I think the pansy needs to be tweaked.

The Story of George

How shall I describe George?  He is warm and wonderful, charming but not too overbearing, sporting a beautiful bass voice  not to be outdone by the singing sostenuto of his tenor and treble.    He was born in New York City around 1910 or 1912, nobody knows precisely.  At about the time the Titanic was sinking and the Girl Guides were forming in Savannah, the George Steck Company produced my George in what was the golden days of the American piano. (Thomas Edison owned a George Steck, upon which his wife and daughters all played.)  Yes, George is a piano.

In truth, most pianos of George’s generation are at present  in a state of degeneration.  But my George has been the lucky recipient of loving care from another great gentleman, and as such has many years of useful and happy life ahead of him.  Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?

Some of you know that I have a history with piano.  I began taking lessons at age four, and continued with studies in piano performance and pedagogy at both Mississippi University for Woman and University of Southern Colorado, where I studied with Frank Cedrone.  At that time I was an Air Force pilot’s wife with three small children, and when we moved to Spain there ended my attempts to become anything but an amateur pianist.  Since then I have not had the time or the circumstances necessary to enable me to get back into practice.  If I had a piano, I had no time.  If I had time, I had no piano, or other of life’s commitments got in the way.  When my husband Brian and I got together five years ago, I did have a piano, but we agreed the house was too small for it.  So I sent it gladly to my sister, and I am looking forward to my niece learning to play it some day.  At times I regretted it, but I was working full time, there was no room, and I knew I had made the right decision.

A couple of years ago I was fortunate enough to meet via Ravelry a group of people that set my life on a different path.  One of these was a gentleman, we shall call him “M”,  of such musical talent that I can only hope to achieve pianistically in a month what he can do in a day.  Very sadly, this man was faced with a crisis in his life; he was losing his best friend and wife to lung cancer.  You may have seen the afghan many of us got together to make for this dear friend; it was such a tiny thing to do in the scheme of things,  yet we wanted so much to do something to be of comfort.  We tried to share our friend’s journey as best we could, but it was such a load for him to shoulder; we cried with him and ached with him, felt every bubble of hope and every setback– not as he did, certainly, but as an echo of the journey he had to endure.  After some time, his dear one passed away, and he was inconsolable.

When you are in a house alone, devastated with grief and pain, lonely and fragile, a piano is a lovely thing, maybe even the only thing that can speak to you.  My friend slowly began to return to his music and the piano; through the music he could express his feelings– anger, grief, torment, sadness.  He acquired lovely pianos that reflected his own passion for music, and at the same time made friends in the music world near his home town.  Piano is what has enabled him to endure the last few months.  Music, the actual living vibrations of strings causing soundboards to vibrate in harmony with one’s own physical presence, is an amazing therapy.

Then one day in January of this year, I discovered that I had breast cancer.  Nowhere near the magnitude of Stage IV lung cancer (mine was Stage I), yet somehow I was faced with my own mortality for the first time– and not just mine, but that of everyone I love.  I began to distrust outward signs of health, to worry that people were unknowingly walking around ridden with cancer.   M was right there for me, offering me support and encouragement, cursing cancer for the horror it is, sharing his own experiences in an effort to ease my mind.  My diagnosis was quite sobering, and it put M’s  experience into a different perspective for me.

As I progressed through surgery and understood that I would need to swim the waters of chemotherapy as well as radiation,  I was a bit desperate to find a way to make it through.  Luckily I was able to get short-term disability leave, as trying to do a good job for my employer while experiencing the fatigue and side effects, suppressed immune system and other challenges of treatment did not seem a recipe for success.  But while on leave I can only do so much knitting and sleeping.  I began to think about a piano.

It seemed to me that I could practice technique (fairly mindless exercises designed to strengthen and quicken fingers) with only half a brain, and that as I got better between each chemo cycle I could practice actual pieces.  By the time my treatment is over, I could be in practice and therefore when I go back to work I could practice less and still be in playing condition.  I liked the way that sounded.

I told M of my idea.  He was more than thrilled and extremely supportive.  Brian, of course, was very supportive as well, and he and I came up with a budget for a vertical piano.  I had in mind a used Kawaii 52″ upright.  I don’t particularly like the sound of Asian pianos, but I prefer the Kawaii over the Yamaha, and they are good values.  But all the while, M was reminding me why grand pianos are far preferable to vertical (upright) pianos, and I was educating Brian in turn.  After I had played all the pianos within our budget (hundreds!)  that were available in Bellevue and found them wanting, I was disheartened and uncertain that my plan would work at all.  Brian, in the meantime, had come to the conclusion that we needed a grand and, astonishingly, we came up with a place to put it!

The problem was that I really wanted a beautiful-sounding grand piano and I had about one-quarter of the budget it would take to get one, should I even find one.  It seemed impossible.

Meanwhile, M contacted his musical connections, who in turn recommended that we contact a gentleman named Del Fandrich, who lives a bit south of us in Olympia.  As it turns out, Del is quite renowned for his work in designing and rebuilding pianos, having been head of research and design at Baldwin Piano, designed a piano for Charles Walter company,  and consulted with Young Chang among much other work with designing and rebuilding pianos.  He also completely edited and republished Piano Tone Building, a work originally published in 1916-1919.  He is also the acoustic piano consultant to Larry Fine, of the Larry Fine Piano Book (a must-have reference for anyone interested in buying a piano).    I was impressed, and more than a little afraid that this was too much talent for me!   (Del and his brother Darrell also designed the Fandrich piano, a huge success and subject of a FutureWatch episode.)

Curious as to whether Del could help me find a piano that was already rebuilt (I didn’t have time to wait for one to be rebuilt!), I called and spoke with his wonderful wife Barbara, who is a free-lance editor and also advertising director for Larry Fine’s Piano Book.  Barbara and I found it so easy to be friends, and we began to talk about the George Steck.

Del and Barbara had bought George 40 years ago, when they were first married.  After about twenty years, Del rebuilt him, replacing the sound board, innovating parts of the design and bringing him up to a level that is astonishing for such an old piano.  George is a very wide piano, meaning that that back part beyond the keyboard is wider than is normal in modern pianos.  This allows for marvelous bass harmonics.  Later, Del also did some extensive work on the action, which was purported to be a bit stiff (but feels wonderful now).

Brian and I drove down to their warehouse in Centralia– about a 2 hour drive–  in the most blinding rainstorm imaginable to meet George, a beautiful rosewood 6-foot grand, with an “art case” that though probably does not appeal to the modern aesthetic, is enchanting.  I fell in love with him right away.  There were a couple of other grands that Del (every bit as wonderful and charming as his wife) had set up for me to try, but there was no comparison.  The rich, mellow sound of George called to me.

Since Del and Barbara had moved, they no longer had the room for George, and they were willing to let him go at about half of what he really should have brought.  This was an amazing opportunity, but our budget was still short and without a full paycheck coming in, it was not a good decision to make.  But M would hear nothing but that we allow him to offer a gesture of  generosity typical of his heart and spirit, more than matching our funds so that George could be ours.  I know that he understands the cathartic and therapeutic effect of music, and I hope he understands the depth of my  gratitude for this action, this part of him that is made up of so many things– love of music, compassion, his own journey through grief.

On the way home that day, we saw the most beautiful full rainbow I have ever seen.

George now sits grandly atop the glass floor in the atrium that looks as if it were built for him, and I am getting acquainted with him through Chopin’s Nocturnes.   M and I talk frequently about music and pianos and composers.  I am in heaven.  (I shall not spoil the sanctity of this post by talking about my health– but be assured that I am coping).

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Mama never told me my scalp would hurt when my hair started falling out.  Now I know.  It hurts about like when you were little and your brothers pulled your hair just enough to be annoying but not enough to pull it out.  Luckily, the hair will only fall out once, so this too shall pass.

I’ve thought a lot about the loss of hair, and inevitably compared it to the loss of a love.  Therefore, there are many songs that can be adapted to apply to hair.  For example, the class “Goodbye to Hair”, which I believe was Karen Carpenter, sings melodiously I’ll say goodbye to hair… and ending with And all I know of hair is how to live without it, I just can’t seem to find it.  Or Barbra Streisand’s famous It’s raining, it’s pouring, my hairline is boring me to tears…

Then of course there is the song that is sung when the last hair clings precariously to the scalp:  One is the loneliest number…

You have to find the fun where you can.

Other than that, I’ve been feeling well and comparatively energetic for the last two or three days.  I go for walks in the twenty minutes of sunshine that has graced the Pacific Northwest each day lately.  It’s always a pleasure to watch Spring spread her influence, see the daffodils and cherry trees blooming, watch the euphorbia grow green (and along with all that see the weeds starting to take over!)  Unfortunately my nurse tells me that the fatigue part of chemotherapy will get worse with each treatment, so this may be the best I feel until the end of May, between chemo and radiation therapy.  But it is good to know what to expect, and I accept each day as a gift.

Knitting has been ongoing but I have been more focused on an exciting addition to our household involving the move-in of a 100-year-old gentleman named George.  I will fill you in once he is here and settled!

Remember Algernon?

If you had the same junior high school English teacher that I did — Mrs. Pound — you read the book Flowers for Algernon, which originally won the Hugo Award for best short story in the year of my birth.  It is a fantastic book, and has stuck with me all these years.  Algernon is the name of the lab mouse that is used for experimentation with IQ-enhancing surgery.

The thing is, the surgery works (on a human subject named Charlie), gradually increasing his intellect until he is a genius.  But then it begins to reverse, putting him back at his original IQ of 68.

Since the beginning of breast cancer treatment, I’ve felt a lot like Algernon and Charlie.  I start to feel better, then a new treatment occurs and I dip below the zone.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  The first chemo treatment is now over a week in the past.  I thought I was getting off Scot-free because I suffered no symptoms through Monday (which happened to be my birthday).  But as soon as I turned 52, all hell broke loose.  It has taken me until now, five days later, to feel human again.  This Algernon cycle will continue, but I know what I face and am determined to be a good little mouse.  Squeak.

Meanwhile, I’ve been delightfully inundated with wonderful cards:

And beautifully soft chemo caps (among other gorgeous knitted gifts not shown here)  from knitter friends:

And a lot of loving care by my wonderful husband, about whom I can’t say enough.  I cannot imagine having to go through this without his strength.  I have read on various cancer forums about husbands who react to their wives’ cancers by leaving them or having a nervous breakdown or going on drinking binges or committing suicide.  I know that I try Brian’s patience, probably on a daily basis, but he has been by my side for every appointment and every pain; he is my shield, my primary support, my chef, my nurse, my everything, and I am so grateful he is in my life.

In Anticipation of Alopecia

I’m not a cap person.  I do love real hats, though– the kind with brims and decorations; the pillbox, the Victorian tophat, etc.  But caps emphasize the smallness of my particular head by hugging it close, and the imperative wearing of spectacles does not enhance this image.  Be that as it may, I must learn to wear caps because hats are going to be 1) too heavy and 2) too rough.

Knowing that alopecia is less than three weeks away, and wanting to add to the lovely cloche that my friend Carol knit for me,  I looked around in my stash for the softest yarn I could find that would be suitable for a knitted cap, but that wouldn’t take me a year to knit.  I came across some that I had bought from Judith MacKenzies at a past weaving workshop.  She dyed it herself, after having had it spun at a mill while researching buffalo and silk combinations (at least that’s how I remember it– I could be totally making this up).  It seemed soft in the ball, so I cast on and knit this:

I’m not thrilled with it.  The yarn was fine, the colors gorgeous, but it has some guard hairs in it which will prickle my scalp, and the style turned out to be oh-s0-not-flattering.

So I went to the Weaving Works and searched for the softest yarns there.  The first one I’m knitting with is Leche, a very soft blend of merino, microfiber, milk protein and silk.  Since I took a brioche knitting class at Madrona, I decided to put the knowledge to use by knitting the Waterlooplein watch cap from the book Knitting Brioche.  I am absolutely loving the pattern, and I think the layers of spongy softness will add dimension to my head as well as keeping it warm.  Also, it is very reversible, as you can see in the second picture.

I haven’t posted many pictures of the fur family lately, so here is a gratuitous photo of Stonewall, now about ten months old and a faithful companion.

While at Madrona I purchased several braids of beautifully dyed merino top  from The Artful Ewe ; luscious colors that are a dream to spin.  I’ve started with the gold.

So, I am keeping busy, trying not to dwell too much on chemotherapy side effects other than to prepare for them*.  I picked up all the drugs that my oncologist prescribed.  One is a steroid.  It will make me cranky and sleepless and hungry.  Another is a sleeping/anxiety/nausea drug that will help with the crankiness and sleeplessness and the nausea that I will get when I eat because I’m hungry because of the steroids.  If that isn’t enough, there is another drug for worse nausea, and yet another for really really worse nausea.  All this along with pain pills for post-surgical pain (see below) and regular sleeping pills (sleep eludes me).

I will have surgery again on Tuesday (same time, same place, same surgeon) to insert a port-a-cath beneath my skin just under my collarbone.  I think it looks sort of like one of those old-fashioned desk buzzers.  It will stay there until I’m all done with chemo.  If anyone mentions the weird bump, I plan to start violently, pretend I’ve never seen it before and scream “Get it out! Get it out!”.   I will rub some numbing cream on it an hour before they wish to “access” my veins, and then they’ll just poke a needle through it.  I’m pretty sure this is the first step in being assimilated into the Borg.  Probably all of my veins will turn into plastic tubes, and my nerves will turn into wires.  They may even have a USB port alongside the needle to enhance networking.  I’ll ask my internal communications station to send you an email.

*In case you are interested in what the side effects are, they include alopecia (hair loss), nausea, extreme fatique, low white cell count (they will give me a shot of Neulasta the day after each chemo treatment to help this), mouth sores, nausea, skin rashes, neuropathy (numbness and soreness of fingertips usually), nausea,  constipation or diarrhea,  nail weakening and potential loss, and did I mention nausea?  But the main effect is to kill rapidly dividing (aka cancer) cells, and that one trumps them all.  These side effect should diminish and disappear just in time for the next chemo treatment (well, all except for the gone hair!).

It could be a lot worse.

24

Remember the tv show 24, starring Kiefer Sutherland?  Remember how every episode covered one actual hour in a terror- and suspense-filled, action-packed drama?  I loved that show.

But I didn’t really like the most recent personal episode of “24″, because that was what my oncotype score turned out to be.  This is precisely in the middle, and so I will need to increase my chances of survival by allowing the nice doctors to pour a frothy mix of two different lethal chemicals into my veins four times, each three weeks apart.  Followed by 33 radiation treatments.

If all goes well, I should recover in time to greet the beginning of Seattle’s summer, at the end of July, appropriately attired in no hair.

I’m sure I will write a fantastic post about Madrona soon, but I thought I’d catch you up on the latest meaning of the number of hours in a day first.