A Charmed Life

Fund-Razzing

Thank you to everyone who commented or wrote to me privately about losing my sweet little Raffles.  We'd known for months that we'd be saying goodbye in the not-so-distant future, but it was still a shock, and your caring really helped me feel better.  Speaking of which, thanks for the good wishes in that department as well.  With the help of my trusty new bong inhaler and a stockpile of peaceful, narcotic-induced sleep, I should be kicking this bout of bronchitis faster than normal and be lacing up my running shoes again in the next couple of days. 

I have decided that it might be nice to have a running partner. So, if you're muscular, energetic, ready to obey every word I say and enthusiastic with kisses, read on!  I need somebody who can keep up with my high energy level in the morning and collapse with me on the couch at night.  Interested?  Well then, grab your nearest friend with opposable thumbs and tell them to comment on this post and let me know which shelter you're in!  Animal shelter, for those of you not accustomed to my oddball sense of humor.  Seriously, I'm thinking maybe a small Lab, Corgi or Aussie mix, up to 45 lbs., who loves other dogs, children, cats, and my cooking.  By "mix", I mean, smaller than a Lab, and dumber than a Corgi or Australian shepherd.  I don't need my wiring up to code, I just need a running buddy!

This, by the way, will be the new category for my weekly updates on my marathon training and my fundraising efforts for the Debra Angelo Leave No Mom Behind Fund in honor of my mother.  Please feel free to comment in this space if you have any questions for me, and don't forget to take a look at my fund page and sign the guestbook.

So I had a great idea to raise money and be true to my Sicilian heritage at the same time.  "Blackmail" is such an ugly word, though.  So I'll call it, "your choice".  Donate $25 to the LUNGevity Foundation, and I won't send you a high-quality, glossy 5 x 7 photo of me wearing nothing but my running shoes and a smile.  But wait, there's more!  Make that check out for $50, instead, and I'll forget to include the 8 x 10 of my husband wearing nothing but my orthopedic pink sports bra. 

Your choice.  I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille...

Great Expectorations

You know you've had bronchitis one too many times when you don't need "spell-check" to spell "phlegm".  Or, for a laugh, when asked about the color of said expectorate, you answer, "lovely autumn colors".  Or, when the attractive X-ray tech down in Urgent Care, upon seeing you feverishly stumble behind him, asks if you'd like a ride instead, you cheekily reply, "No, it's late, and you're probably too tired to carry me piggy-back". 

I get weird when I have a fever.  For starters, my normal body temperature has never been 98.6, but 97.1.  As far as I can guess I am some strange sort of reptile.  Anyone who's ever been forced to share a bed with me knows that my feet are made of permafrost and invulnerable to global warming.  So when the thermometer reads 102.8 for me, my brain cells are turning into charcoal briquettes.  I should have realized how sick I was the other night, when out of nowhere I started hearing a song in my head...and it was rap.  And I was making up the lyrics.

Thus it is entirely appropriate that I was once again prescribed Promethazine cough syrup with codeine, the main ingredient in Homey's "drank" of choice, Sizzurp. One dose and I am feeling ghetto-fabulous with my new "bling" (hospital bracelet) and crack pipe, uhh, Albuterol inhaler. I am probably the only 36 year-old in history that had to read the instructions on how to take a "hit" and hold it in for ten seconds before exhaling. 

So do you think this was a bad week to rent "The Stand" on Netflix?  Tune in tomorrow, when hopefully I will accomplish something more productive than my cough.

Dog Dazed

I really hate to bellyache again but this just isn't my week.  This morning, we had to put Raffles, our beloved Italian greyhound, down.  He was diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma last April, and we were having the tumors removed as they appeared, but our vet had warned us that the disease causes tumors to form around internal organs as well, and that Raffles would eventually die painlessly in his sleep.  Would that it had been that easy.  At about 1:40 a.m., Dave and I woke up to him whimpering in his crate and figured he just needed to go out.  He didn't normally wake us up but we'd put him to bed early and he did have a teeny bladder!  But by the time we got out of bed, he was literally screaming in pain.  We let him out and all he did was run around the yard, shrieking.  He came back in and sat on his favorite futon and wagged his tail...but yelped again at the lightest touch on his back.  We decided to leave him there until morning and call our regular vet unless he started crying again, which, thank goodness, he didn't.  We'd have brought him to emergency otherwise, but with my fever and a sleeping toddler, we were glad we didn't have to send Dave by himself to that office in the middle of the night.

By daylight it was obvious that there was some sort of lump or swelling on Raffles' spine.  It had literally appeared overnight.  We called our dear friend and neighbor, Auntie KQ, to come sit with Sephie while we took Raffles to his last vet visit.  I would have had no problem letting her say goodbye to Raffles if he had been peaceful and calm, but he was in excruciating pain and there's no way to explain that to a two year-old.  It was heartbreaking hearing her say, "Bye-bye Wafoos.  I vuv oo Wafoos."  She had just gotten to the point where she'd learned how to be gentle with such a fragile dog, and she loved how he would snuffle in her ear ("It kickles!!") to give her kisses.  She would even come to me and ask me for "Wafoos tisses?".  For a toy dog breed not known for being comfortable around kids, he was really great with her.

The vet's diagnosis was an aneurysm or blood clot from one of the tumors.  He was as surprised as we were that Raffles didn't die painlessly as expected, but also said that clots like that were pretty common.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't do nearly as well with Raffles' euthanasia as I did with my other pets, probably because he was actually shrieking in pain up until the needle was inserted into his leg.  Maybe I can blame it on my fever but I just stood there sobbing with my hands over my face the minute they touched him and made him cry.  I hope that if, Heaven forbid, something ever happens to my daughter, I pull myself together a little better than that.

I miss him already.

She Give Me Fever

Remember the movie "Outbreak", where the cute little monkey is carrying the Ebola virus that's making everyone bleed from their eyes, yet she's literally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, remaining unscathed from the deadly illness?  Well, apparently I have my own adorable germ vector here.  My darling daughter, who loves to go to the gym with me and "kiss boys??"  (her words, not mine), has managed to manufacture some sort of killer bug and pass it on to me.  She's fine.  Not that I want her to get sick, but...aargh!

So last night my fever was almost 103.  Everything hurts, and I think my internal organs are liquefying for the sole purpose of coughing them up more easily.  I'd say I'm sick as a dog, but I have neither the flexibility nor the inclination to lick myself.  I could say I look like Death, but at this point I don't think I could lift that sickle. 

Anyway, thanks for all the support for my mom's "Leave No Mom Behind" campaign...updates to come as soon as I feel human again!

Leave No Mom Behind

January 21, 2006.  Inarguably, the worst day of my life, the last day of my mother's life.  This picture, however, was taken several weeks earlier, shortly before Christmas of 2005.  It's badly-lit with poor resolution because I took it in her hospital room with my cell phone, but you can still see how young she was-only 53.  You can't see the beautiful new opal earrings she has on, her last Christmas present from my dad, but you probably can tell that although she's puffy from the steroids and sporting an oxygen tube under her nose, she looks cheerful, and happy to have her baby granddaughter on her lap.  She's not just mugging for the camera- her great attitude was a huge part of her personality.  I wish I had a picture of her a few minutes later, with the BIPAP oxygen unit.  She put her hands behind her ears and made elephant noises with the hose as her "trunk" to make the baby laugh.

In case anyone is reading her story for the first time, Mom died of lung cancer, 18 months after diagnosis. The carcinoma was only found after it was so enormous that her only recourse was to lose the entire lung.  After the surgery, she wasn't allowed to eat for five days., after which she threatened cannibalism to all visitors to her room.  When the hospital gave her the swallowing test with barium pudding, she cheekily asked for the recipe.  When the cancer returned, she was put on oral chemotherapy and promptly suffered many painful side effects and a massive staph infection that put her on a ventilator and feeding tube for a week.  When she regained consciousness, they kept the feeding tube in for a few days...which she spent watching the Food Network and jotting down new recipes for when she could return home to cook.  Obviously, it was going to take more than the number-one cancer killer to keep this woman down.

Except, there was nothing more that could be done for her.  The amount spent on research annually per case on lung cancer in this country is just over a tenth of that spent on breast cancer, even though lung cancer kills more Americans than breast, prostrate, pancreatic and colorectal cancers COMBINED. What this means in practical terms is that a lung cancer patient runs out of options pretty darn fast. Why such a stingy budget for a disease that is the number-one cancer  killer?  Probably the stigma of tobacco use, even though half of the cases are former smokers, or never-smokers like my mom.  It's unfair to everyone, because the implication is that smokers deserve what they get. I got to watch lung cancer kill, and trust me when I say, nobody deserves to die like that. Not to mention that assigning blame is a slippery slope.  What's next, we stop calling 911 if a fat person is having a heart attack?  We're better than that.

It's not enough to only feel compassion for others, or sorrow for loved ones lost.  We have to take action if we want to see change happen.  That's why I've decided to dedicate the next several months training to run the 10th Annual Boulder Backroads Marathon to raise funds for cancer research in my mother's honor. I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, an athlete.  But my mom wasn't a smoker, and she managed to get lung cancer, so I think I have the odds covered. 

Mom was a devout Catholic and therefore unafraid to die.  She was, however, terrified at the thought of leaving all of us behind, grieving for her.  That's why I''m calling her fund the Debra Angelo Leave No Mom Behind Fund.  Everyone is somebody's baby, and every time a life is snuffed out, that person leaves behind a family that loves and needs them.  It's too late to save my mom.  My daughter will never get to see what a fantastic grandma she was.  But I'm going to run my heart out and do my small part to make sure that someday, a mother and her child won't have to say goodbye so soon. 

I need your help, though.  Please visit my page and consider making a donation in my mother's name. The LUNGevity Foundation is a wonderful organization and the top grant-making nonprofit funding lung cancer research.  Any amount you can give will  make a difference. If you can't give, you can sign my guest book instead to lend your encouragement, and share the link to my page with someone else.  "Cough it up for lung cancer" is a lousy slogan. I'd ask only that you take a look, think it over, and do what you can.  Anything you can do is greatly appreciated.

I don't know what else to write.  I miss my mother more than anything I'll ever write can express.  I can't sit by while this happens to another daughter, or another mom, not while I have breath in my two healthy lungs and running shoes that fit.  Feets, don't fail me now.

Wheeze On Down The Road

Happy halfway-through-the-week!  This post brought to you by: Extreme Patience- when you absolutely, positively have to get up in the middle of the night from a sound sleep to fetch your crying toddler some water and NOT lose your sh*t.  Also:  Aleve, the achy, cranky, crampy, can't find a comfortable position for my neck and not gonna sleep without it medicine.

It's a darned good thing I'm going for a run in a few hours because ::yawn:: I could really use that "runner's high" about now!  I can't  believe I am even typing this! I've always said that I'd never run unless it involved a mugger or an ice cream truck. (I about made the guy at the running shoes store wet his pants laughing when I told him I was going to get some Good Humor tunes for my iPOD.)  But I really do like to run, to my surprise.  Not so much while I'm running as I do afterwards when I devour some carbs and get to not have my jeans be so tight, but, whatever works, right?  Plus, now I have an extra incentive to run harder and faster.  No, not my upcoming marathon to benefit lung cancer research, although that's important and I'll get to that later. I'm talking about my new running pants.

Cool space-age wicking fabric?  Check. UV protection?  Check. Slimming tummy panel and a slenderizing jet black to boot?  Yup.  Tight enough that the casual observer can tell whether or not I've waxed my legs recently?  Unfortunately, yes.  They're the correct size, all right, but now my behind looks like someone has shrink-wrapped it with a Foodsaver.  I've decided to keep them, because nothing is going to keep me moving along like the threat of someone actually seeing what I look like in them.

But wait, there's more.  I've been reading the excellent advice of the esteemed Doctor Mama, who's well-known about the blogosphere for getting us newbie "maggots" off the couch and into the sneakers for a nice run.  According to her, the best underwear?  Is none at all.  OK, I bow to her expertise, but according to my calculations, here's what I'm advertising: "Out-of-shape, slow-moving newbie with giant bosom and $200 mp3 player, lumbering down the road with no panties on.  Coming soon to a neighborhood near you."  Reminds me of that old Far Side comic strip, featuring a dog on the phone, and the caption says: "Hello... I'm a big, fat Siamese with a broken leg and no teeth and I'm sitting here on my front porch with no place to run or hide....in broad daylight....".

It gets even better.  Remember, it's Weird Wednesday, and this week the Weird is me.  I have to run the marathon itself without my prrecioussss iPOD, but there's no way I'm training without my tunes, so I take the risk of bringing it with me and stick it in my pocket.   Except I found out at the last minute yesterday that my new pants don't have a pocket.  I couldn't find my old armband-style holster, so on Dave's advice I stuck the player into the waistband of the pants instead.  They contain enough Lycra that I could probably stick a stereo system in there, so no problem, right?  Remember the part where I'm not supposed to wear underwear?  I spent half the run trying to make sure it didn't turn into a suppository.  I guess if I can't find that holster later this morning, I'm going to have to tough it out without my music.  So if you're sipping your morning coffee in San Marcos and happen to look out the window and see a voluptuous woman with really big feet who is running VERY slowly while trying to hum the words to "SexyBack"?  Bring me a cup, will you?  I'm really short on sleep!  Have a great week!

((Stay tuned for an upcoming "Mommy Monday" post, brought to you by some of my good blogging buddies and LUNGevity.org!!))

Don't Chase Me, Bro!

So I started my novice-level running program yesterday, and I've already learned a few things.  One: the $52 orthopedic looking, encapsulation-style sports bra is worth its weight in gold. I used to bounce like Tigger, and now I could probably jump on a trampoline without giving myself a black eye.  Two: with the "girls" tightly strapped down, I am amazingly pear-shaped.  Which is good, because three: oh man, am I not a natural at this. :::wheeze:::  There is no way on God's green earth I could ever outrun a mugger. My best bet will be to not brush my teeth before my run, and hope that the resulting dragon breath + panting will scare off any would-be attacker.  So, don't chase me, bro!  I suppose I could carry pepper spray, but I think my niece got the last vial...

I'll get better, I know.  For now the party line is that my cardio sucks solely because I have never before been able to procure ample support for my more-than-ample bosom and therefore to avoid injury have remained safely on the couch.  Also, someone needs to keep Netflix in business.  Ahem.  That and I could use some better sleep than I've been getting, not mentioning any PERSEPHONES...

Poor baby.  She's been waking up with good reason, her first ear infection (albeit a minor one). At least, I hope that's all she has, after waiting for an hour in the "sick child" side of the pediatrician's office, yesterday afternoon. She was bright-eyed and laughing and active, in marked contrast to her listless, red-eyed and weeping peers.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have actually contracted the Ebola virus while in there, so you may want to spray your monitors down with rubbing alcohol after reading this ;)

What, you didn't think I forgot to bring the "weird", did you?  Yet again it is brought to you courtesy of T*arget pharmacy.  I went in to fill Seph's Amoxicillin scrip, her first antibiotic ever, and saw that I could finally try out that newfangled flavoring thing they have going on.  Back in *my* day (you know, when we had to walk to school, uphill, both ways, in the rain?), amoxicillin came in a pink "bubblegum" flavor.  It was so nasty that to this day I can't take Pepto Bismol because it's the same color!  Bubblegum?  Yeah, if you're talking about the kind of gum that came in a package of baseball cards, mixed with the flavor of the actual baseball cards!  We were tough back then!  Retching up your medicine is part of the essential childhood experience!  Builds character, too.  So I got her the raspberry flavoring.  I figure it will probably save me on her therapy bills, later.

But that's not the weird part.  See, there are oodles of flavors available, but just like a wine pairing at a fancy restaurant, there's a "wheel" of suggested flavor combinations for different medications.  The pharmacist was moving the wheel toward "penicillin" when I noticed "Prozac" was on there as well. I was about to make a joke about just soaking the pills in Tequila when she clucked her tongue and told me that Prozac was available in liquid form...for CHILDREN.

Dude.  How messed-up does your little childhood existence have to be if you're young enough to need your medicine flavored but you already need Prozac?  I think psychogenic drugs should be a sometime food, myself.  Maybe take up a hobby instead, like...running?

Born To Walk Briskly

Happy New Year!  I hope everyone had fun tonight and has a plan to get home safely.  I am typing this quietly so as not to aggravate any post-celebration hangovers ;)  I wanted to share a couple of funnies and post my resolutions for 2008 to keep me from being tempted to back out of them later!  Grab some hair of the dog and a couple of Advil and check them out, if you like!

I had to replace Seph's toothbrush and thought I'd mention what I noticed about toddler toothpaste.  It's not mint or cinnamon-flavored like grown-up toothpaste.  It's bubble gum-flavored.  Why?  It's intended target audience is children who can barely walk, never mind walk and chew gum.  Why not make it taste like something they already eat and enjoy?  No, not like breast milk, that's disgusting.  But I'm pretty sure Seph would dig a dentrifice that tasted like mac-n-cheese.  Are you listening, Procter and Gamble?
I went to the grocery store directly after a long workout at the gym and I was starving.  So I decided I'd order a sandwich at their very good deli.  The "hail Caesar", with turkey, Havarti and garlic spread is my favorite, and although they can be slow it's worth the wait.  I simply order first, do my shopping and pick up my sandwich when I'm done.  Either working out drained my blood sugar to the point that it took some brain cells with it, or my blonde highlights are taking their job too seriously.  (Naturally blonde?  I'm sorry, I will type that again, more slowly ;)  When I approached the counter, the deli manager said, "Hail Caesar", and I snapped to attention.  I think I need to start carrying a nutrition bar or an apple or something!

On to the photos.  It's six minutes to midnight as I write this, and thus ends 2007, the only year that I have ever successfully carried out a New Year's resolution.  And it was the classic resolution I'd made every year since I hit my teens and discovered the scale:  "Lose weight".  I'd actually started at the beginning of November, but resolved to lose all of my excess poundage in 2007.  I won't go into how I did it at this time (feel free to ask me if you're ever interested), but my point is, I proved to myself that I could do something time-consuming and difficult if I truly applied myself.  Think I'm exaggerating?  I wasn't exactly Richard Simmons' material, but I did drop over 60 lbs.  Check it out:  the first picture is late October of 2006, right before starting my weight loss plan.  The second is from a couple of weeks ago, dressed up for Dave's company holiday party.  (Whoops, I think they're reversed, and for some reason they don't want text around them. Who can tell me how to use the Typepad custom settings?  I resolve to learn to use them this year!!)

Stoopid pictures.  I never had this much trouble with them before!  Anyway, here's my 2008 New Year's Resolution- at least, one of them.  By the end of this year, I am going to run a marathon for cancer research.  (I haven't decided which organization I'll go with yet, primarily because we're moving out-of-state but I don't know quite when. Any recommendations?  I'm all ears.)  Have I mentioned that I've never run a mile in my life?  But, I now have good running shoes, a novice program that I've already started, I've ordered the best sports bra known to Man (or, at least, to Oprah), and I have every confidence that I'll make it happen.  Plus, I have a brother who's been a long-distance runner for years, and we have to share some genes, right?  I'll get checked out by a doctor first, of course, and if I can't run it, I'll walk.  Heaven forbid I can't walk it, I'll raise the money anyway and nag somebody else to walk support another runner.  Cancer has taken way too much of my family, so if I can help escort it off the genome map and lose my ginormous butt in the process, I'm all for it!  So there you have it, my pledge of 2008.  Check this space for updates, and if you hear any whimpering, that's because, owww, I had the treadmill at a REALLY steep incline..

Well I guess I was born to run to bed..night all, and happy 2008!