answering questions and setting dates

My last chemo session is this coming Monday.  Three weeks later they will remove my right breast.  I will heal, take another trip to SD for a friends wedding whom I've known for almost 33 years, and come back just in time to bake XMAS cookies with my sisters and mom.  I will have radiation, probably in December,  yet it's not set up yet.  I don't know how much the chemo has benefited.  I'm sure more test will come after the operation.  As of now, "they" haven't said anything about further chemo treatments.  However, I will continue to research on my own and volunteer for clinical studies (if they'll have me).
I will be writing again and posting pictures (because I'm not shy) after the surgery.  Stay tuned.

Cali, My Home!

I’ve had an epiphany:  the last time this broad took a holiday from her home for longer than four days was the summer of ’98.  It was my last trip to Europe.  Now, you won’t hear any boo-hoos coming from me; for I’ve traveled a bit since then… Maine, RI, Penn., Connecticut, NY, NJ (and it’s oh so popular shore), Vermont, OR, ID, CO, Wash., Cali, all of which include at least two full days of site seeing.  Then there is a list of cities the four cross county road trips have deemed “drinkably” acceptable.  Some I have forgotten, other’s not even Google maps have remembered, and then there are Little Rock, AR, Cheyanne, WY, and Las Vegas, NV. 

Escaping to different environments was made possible by my “pick up and move” philosophy; that, and the geographical closeness of eastern states.  The drive from our abode in New Jersey to the shores of Maine took 11 hours, passing five states between.  You could leave San Diego driving north and not exit California in that time.  I’m not trying to convince you, nor tell you as if it’s new information.  I’m simply in awe like when watching a wunderkind completing the Sunday New York Times crossword in record minutes.  If I get five I know it’s going to be a good week.

I will fan away the crooked brow of my Cali. readers by saying that along the 5 freeway, I’ve encountered as much richness and diversity from the trees, to the sand, to the cities as I have on the east coast.  Cali is better than multiple states, it’s home.

You can imagine my excitement when after all these years my first “real” vacation, 7 days 6 nights, was a trip to back to my roots.  I’ve always adventured with the understanding it’s best to see a place through the eyes of its citizens.  Luckily in all my moves I’ve kept many friends at a phones length.  And when I finally reached out and touched them, some after seven years, I found more than a connection.  They offered their time, experiences, and most amazingly their homes.

I flew from Boise to San Francisco, starting off with a bang.  If you knew the three ladies I’d met you’d agree such a decision synchronized a bang with a boom.  San Fran-fucking Cisco!! Individually, Trisha, Michele, and Carla led me through the city taking on public transport, the arts, food, drink, music, and even found time to sleep.  Wonderful, brilliant, simply breathe taking, oven baked bread and whole fresh boiled crab, a bicycle festival with staged racers, a back-alley lesbian bar, a gay-boy disco club, house-made brownies topped with mint ice cream caramel and chocolate syrup, a bloody-mary breakfast with 10 sliced pickles (my own demand), and a history lesson by a friend who’s love for the city shines like the glitter on a tranny’s nails.

I could have stayed another week, a month, the rest of my days but the city of angels was calling.  Los Angeles had a different plan for me. Dinner and wine anyone?  Don’t mind if I do!  In a last minute decision, Amy and Patrick were there to pick me up.  (A savings of around $50.  Thanks again guys.)  After a brief stop at a local wine shop, we headed to mannequin heaven, also known as West Hollywood.  What do you get when you mix 216 vintage mannequins with a chemotherapy patient?  A lot of bald heads!

Chad-Michael is known for many things, and parties are one of them and never let the amount of intimacy fool you.  There was (did I mention) wine, gourmet vegan cuisine, laughter and catching up, some German folk singing (schinken!!), wine, gardening, the masturbating tortoise, a large eye sculpture, walks to the liquor store for more wine, pictures, and mannequins.  Through the laughter, bottles of wine, lost purse, trips to the liquor store I saw us clearly.  We were no longer twenty-somethings, but thirsty, wise, humble, strong, determined, ambitious adults.  And it was a spectacle to cherish.  We didn’t compete for stories or favorite moments but offered them up as reflections of ourselves or as pieces of advice gift-wrapped and labeled for use at a later date.  Who we’d been was no longer up for discussion. Instead who we’d become gave tranquil responses to those previous experiences like we’d recorded the past and now felt at ease in its proof.  I would have loved more time, but slept well knowing one night had had given me back ten years.

Brother Doug, the bestest brother in all the land, picked me up from The Alibi where I nursed my hangover with a shot of patron and a Corona.  The two hour drive back to San Diego was sobering.  We arrived to home-made lasagna and more wine, conversation that continued to revisit “the meaning of life”, and warm sheets in my old room.  The truth of the matter is I’d called every bedroom, half of the garage, and the den, “my room” at one point, with the exception of my parents’ master suite (which had also been redesigned into two separate rooms, but only after my departure).  A quick dip in the pool and it was lights-out for me.

Only two full days left.  However, the agenda was simple: friends, La Torta, and the flight. The old Pizza Nova gang made it real easy on me by showing up at Gorden Biersch with photos, stories, and an appetite.  In a few hours we devoured years of house-parties, trips to Vegas, beach bathing, bike rides, clubs, dinners, hole-in-the-walls, wine tastings, and every employee or infamous customer who happened to breach our little pizza home.  Oh, and the course wouldn’t be complete without some Charger girls.  Just in case I’d forgotten to represent the team as their token lesbian, they bought me a Charger cheerleading calendar to remind me.

Hugs and kisses to: Emily, Cindy, Laura, Amy, Britt, Amanda, Laura, Kris, and on to my last day.

Had I known the lunch with brother and dad at La Torta would have been our last meal together, I may have convinced myself to chew the most delicious sandwich in the world.  Yet, as the odor drifted from the warm bun to my nose my hand to mouth movements became involuntary.  And thus the end! 

Oh, not of my story, just of that meal.  We parted ways in La Mesa as I took the trolley downtown and they headed back to East County.  Who knows, maybe it was chemo brain, maybe I was comatose from eating a sandwich the size of my head, or maybe it was due to drinking three of the last five days but I could not for the life of me give Michelle the correct cross streets to where I’d gotten off downtown.  She got there nonetheless.

On the drive, we both realized that born and raised we had not frequented the world famous San Diego Zoo quite enough, and that the only thing that had stopped us was ridiculousness. The zoo is a work out, centralized, fairly inexpensive, beautiful, educational, and down-right fun.  We felt like Crocodile Dundee, Siegfried and Roy, Dian Fossey, Steven Irwin (except protected behind think glass or large metal cages).

Now, what led up to this is debauchery (of the best kind) but the details are a little muddled.  I spent the last night of my California vacation on a fairly cushioned 5 by 4 foot jail mat.  Sure I was drinking.  Sure we closed down the bars and that wasn’t quite enough.  And sure, I had friends with me throughout most of the evening.  But when and how exactly I wound up bruised from falling sitting Indian-style on the dirt staring at a bush when two nice, handsome, San Diego, police officers tapped me on the shoulder is beyond me.  I mean how, as my day started off with a family meal at La Torta and a trip to the zoo, could it end purse-less, phone-less, friend-less, and bruised?  Well, the only real cushion here is knowing that I can finally count that one off my bucket list.  Next in line, fist fight. 
Shout out to: David, Carla, and Jacqueline

are we there yet????

I know my blogs are posted further apart.  What can I say, it's all becoming very normal.  With that said, the "normality" is a new issue in itself.
I recently attended a Cancer Surveyor's "After Chemo" seminar.  Family and friends have been urging me to reach out to my new community for conversation, support, friends with benefits (the benefit of dealing with similar issues) and this meeting fit into my itinerary.
I still have two more sessions of chemo before completing this (first) round.  However, it was interesting to sit in a room full of women and men whose hair has grown back, whose temperament is as lively as my own, and who are now dealing with problems associated with living, not dying.  I hadn't thought that far.
Yes, I realize chemo is an injection of drugs provided to killer cancer and that I was going to participate in six treatments total and then... for me, surgery, radiation, monthly pills (to keep the cancer in remission).  Yet, chemo is a bit more.  The side effects last long after the injections.  Some last hours, like the needle poking, others weeks, like the nausea and dizziness, and still others last months, like loss of hair and scars from my port.
At the seminar I realized there was more yet.  In some way I was going to miss chemo.  At this point I know what it is, what it does, and how I want to deal with it.  I know it's substance gives me hope and power.  I like power.  It's concrete.  I can feel and see the chemotherapy helping.  Chemo appointments give me a place to show up to, a person to talk with, and a measurement to base improvements on.
Don't get me wrong, I'm can't wait to be done.  It's irritating to be 33, single and ready to mingle, and be so obviously ill.  My point is, I'd like to see my appointment book full again.  And hair will help me accomplish that little stumble.  Hey, not that I've had no luck.  Thank goodness for the compassionates and my amazing butt.  (sorry dad, had to throw that in there... love ya.)

Finally, I got the chemsie and an injection.  The injection was to help "push out" white blood cells from the bone marrow.  The injection was in the back of the arm.  I have two tattoos, both times avoiding the back of the arm. Frozen and flexing, I thought "relax dang it, relax girl, now."  And then it was over.  Oh, I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong...that was not the highlight of my week.
Just before I got arm fondled, friends and family gathered at Willow Creek to eat BBQ and give me money.  It was amazing.  If I could figure out how to get the photos from Jen's camera I would prove it.  Until then, oh the suspense. By amazing I mean great food and drink, just about everyone I know in Boise, some people I didn't know but who are touched by cancer, and my wonderful family.  I guess they figured I've done my part going to weddings, birthdays, and those dreaded holiday events.  Okay kids, we're even.  But seriously, I would have lasted longer at the mic saying my proper "Thank yous" but I was about to follow my sister's tears with my own, and I can't very well publicize emotion... ha, it's what this blog forum is about...plus I was wearing makeup.
It's the same week I experienced five weeks ago, my bones ache but not enough to loose myself in Vicodin, I feel nauseous without vomiting, and energy to spend but a blood cell count that keeps me locked in alone.  Charlotte, my dog, and I have had some amazing conversations about life, goals, happiness.  We agree, writing a story about a female vagabond's encounters along the California coast is a great way enjoy this space and time.  That and watching every movie in the house.  Well, I'm off to revisit Overboard staring Goldie Hawn (who reminds me of my mom) and Kurt Russell... are they still dating and unwed?

from dad

This is an appeal for financial help.

Two months ago my oldest daughter Nichole age 33 was diagnosed with advanced
breast cancer.  She started chemotherapy treatments right away.  She moved
back to Boise from Denver because she was unable to continue with her job
and because of family and many friends in Idaho. She has limited health
insurance.  Due to her loss of income and the costs of medical care we
suggested she appeal to family and friends for help.  This is my appeal for
her.


Wanting to help her out financially, we've set up a paypal account under
nicholevick@yahoo.com for donations.  Instructions for gifting money are
below*.  We appreciate any amount.  Or email me and I will give you her
address.

Also on Sunday August 14th at 1 PM there will be a fundraising event at
Willow Creek Grill, 2273 S. Vista Ave, Boise.  There is a $20 donation for
the all-you-can eat buffet with proceeds going to Nichole. Their phone is
208-343-5544.

For those wanting a room on August 14, the Boise Hotel and Conference Center
has limited availability rooms for the special rate of $49 a night
(208-343-4900).  They are just up the street from Willow Creek, and very
close to the airport, at 3300 Vista Ave, phone 208-343-4900.

There has been talk of additional fundraisers such as a silent auction of
donated items and services and maybe a motorcycle ride-for-Nichole.  More on
these later.

Of course we appreciate all the prayers.  For those of you who don't know
us, thanks regardless.  And sorry for any duplicates.


*To use Paypal go to Paypal.com, select "Home", select "send money", fill in
the amount, check "friends and family", click continue, fill in the email
addresses of sender and receiver, then fill in the details.  All you need it
a bank account number, or credit or debit card.  Paypal will notify Nichole
of the transfer.


Lannes Ray Vick
El Cajon, CA

jumping bean

I want something I can’t have, chemo.  No chemo again this week.  My platelet count is back up but my white blood cell count has some growing up to do.  Running amuck I tell you.  Okay, I’m way to hard on her, I don’t have any infections and haven’t gotten sick, so she’s still doing her job without as many employees… been there, done that.  My mom asked why they could just give it to me?  Even if I were to be hospitalized and medicated, fear of infection is too much a reality.  I wanted to remind my mom that I’m healthy, other than the fact I’m ridden with cancer, and need to stay that way.

My sister’s and girlfriend’s work is putting on a benefit for me this weekend.  I have friends flying in from Denver joining a bunch of people here I’ve never met (some I have) to give me money.  It’s not even a loan.  I just keep it all.  Well, not keep it really, I’ll buy food, travel to out-of-state doctor appointments, and mostly pay hospital bills.  It’s like a sweetest, coolest, most helpful thing.  Who said money can’t buy love?

I know, that’s not really what it’s about.  I mean it is, but it isn’t.  They told me almost two months ago they were planning this benefit.  I didn’t have do anything… let me rephrase that, they wanted to do everything.  I think it’s the first “party” for me since I was a wee child I didn’t dictate. Although difficult at first, I relaxed my fists and backed off.  I’ve been able to view this gift like the many others people have shown me. 

Two prayer quilts from family, friends, and strangers cover my couch.  Letters and notes of sympathy and optimism collage every day.  A motorcycle, rides to and from the hospital, visits at the hospital, phone calls just to check in, silence so I can release emotions, pats on  the back, hugs, kisses, little crooked smiles and nods from strangers that mean “hang in there sista”, this benefit-gathering, all give me a since of pride and self worth that keeps my mind strong.  And although I need it some days more than others it’s a large pillow I can rely on to be there as I jump.

P.S. the word bean in the title is there because to a few of people I love most in the world, everyone is a bean

family reunion and food

The trek through Oregon to my family reunion was beautiful as always.  An eight hour drive starts as a desert, peaks as a forest, and ends in plains. Missing the call of big city hustle I stayed over in Portland for a night.  Sure enough, we marveled at how easy shopping was at the little boutiques.   Hats, scarves, shoes, furniture, cute little artsy trinkets and pretty “us” wonderful things for our home were everywhere.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t the trip for home furnishings.    I did buy a pair of re-fashioned jeans and a scarf of course.

The Williams family meets every three years on a quaint patch of forest land with a lake, a rope swing, and an old school.  The lucky ones sleep three or four to a room, while others bunk in tents on the front lawn.  My siblings and I bunked with delight.

The camp includes food and service, games (volley ball and baseball), supervised swimming and canoeing, and all the family time one could endure in four days.  Needless to say it’s an adventure we all pay for mentally, physically, and monetarily.  Laughing takes the place of music, name tags should be required, and I’m glad I had an excuse to bring my own dietary supplements (no wonder why people spent so much time on the toilet).

The Saturday before we leave, the adults whose normal ruthless behavior is forced into hiding reveals itself during a trip into town to drink and sing karaoke.  I had gone only once before.  This time sober, the whole of it was felt.  Although we weren’t the only members to brave the microphone, my siblings and I sang “Nothing’s Gonna Stop us Now” from the movie soundtrack Manikin.  It was a off-key tear-jerker.

By noon on Sunday most were packed up and heading back home (Alaska, California, Oregon, or Idaho). 

But that wasn’t the end to my vacation.  Although I made it home, it was just days before my next chemo treatment and a month of my rigorous food program and I was going to be naughty.  I pictured a large burrito with the works, a couple slices of greasy New York style pizza, cold strong beer, and a double chocolate brownie smothered in vanilla bean ice cream and topped with caramel.   So yummy, right?  Well, yah!  However, I didn’t make it that far.  My stomach isn’t what it used to be.  I did enjoy the pizza and one cold Anchor Steam, but I had to stop there… no more room.

Today I went to get that, now routine, treatment only to find out my counts are too low. I need more platelets and blood cells.  I guess I should be thrilled I get to wait another week to feel nauseated and tired but I’d prefer to just get it done.