today's 9TS update . . .

his Persantine Thallium Stress Test is now rescheduled for tomorrow morning. It was originally scheduled for two days after his IL2 started. Not good. This test will determine if his heart is strong enough to handle the rigors of IL2 and obviously must be run prior to the immunotherapy. Thank you Kim for your help. She actually bumped someone else to get him a spot in time.

We also have a date and time for his PICC line insertion . . . legitimately called a peripherally inserted central catheter, just so you know. This is how the IL2 will be delivered. I also talked to my bud Anthony, who is getting the ball rolling, in regards to their people talking to our people and making sure this is all covered insurance wise. Fun. Fun. Fun.

Next Monday, we are scheduled for his endoscopy so we can figure out what's going on with this gastritis thing. Especially since the IL2 can cause digestive problems on its own. The good thing is, they are ready to treat the symptom should they cause problems . . . or why this is all done in hospital.

The 9TS is hitting the gym every day and we are bulking him up food wise so that he is in the best possible shape to start the therapy.

So we are good to go. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

another bag . . .

The bag I was using to carry around my yoga mats has seen better days. Much better days. It never was the right size and its handles were all frayed. I made myself a new yoga bag.

I started last night to have something to do other than watch American Idol. No offense AI but I am not a fan. So, while the 9TS watched, I gathered up my embroidery thread and went to town. Easy peasy.

This morning I cut the canvas, nosed around until I found a scrap of fabric big enough for the inside . . . this one is reversible too . . . and in a bit, I had my bag. YAY.

Now the only problem is that I never heed the 9TS and his predictable, 'measure twice, cut once' routine. I am more of a 'snip, snip here, snip. snip there,' type of person. And while the height is good and I can get my strap and towel in there, the towel is not easy. Not because there isn't room but because it doesn't like to share a space with my sticky mat. They argue. They fight. They refuse to make way for each other. The sticky mat puckers up and denies the terry cloth entrance unless I interfere. Sigh.

But all and all, I like my new bag and they can just live with it. So there.

the game plan . . .

We're back from our latest jaunt across the state. We went to visit Dr. Kudchadkar, our second favorite oncologist . . . sorry, Dr. K, but no one tops the Amazing Dr. Z.

First the good news. We got the results of the MRI done in mid February. The 9TS has a brain!!! and Mel and Anoma are not in residence. YAY!!!

And then the conversation turned to "The Plan".

There are four options:

Chemotherapy, Immunotherapy, Ipilimumab and PD-1.

Greek? I think so. So let's break it down shall we?

Chemotherapy is the treatment of melanoma by means of chemicals which are supposed to have a toxic effect on the deadly duo. But here's the thing. Chemotherapy just plain doesn't work against Mel and Anoma. The two put on their invincibility cloaks and are impervious.

Immunotherapy attempts to energize the 9TS's own system to push M&A out of Dodge. Take that you beasts!!!

Ipilimumab, which is nicknamed IPI for obvious reasons, is the brand new therapy against the wily cousins. While it can extend the average lifespan by 10 months, it does not cure the disease.

PD1 is still Greek to me. This is as close a description as I can find. "PD-1 blockade expands infiltrating T cells and reduces regulatory T and myeloid cells within B16 melanoma tumors." See what I mean? A foreign language.

Obviously, we are skipping chemo. I mean seriously, why would we get in the ring with the big bad wolf and come out gnawed upon for nothing? We wanted to jump to IPI since it has the best results but then of course, it gets complicated. If we do IPI first, then we can't try PD1 later and Dr. K wants a plan B. Also, before you can do DP1, you have to have gone through some other form of treatment first. Who makes up these rules anyway???????

So we are looking at immunotherapy, specifically IL2 (Interlukin 2), as our first stop. While IL2 is highly toxic, it actually has a 6 - 10% cure rate. CURE rate. C.U.R.E! How incredible is that? But, if you've ever read the horror stories of cancer treatments, there's a good chance they were talking about IL2. It is so toxic, it is done in the hospital. One week in, one week home, one week back in the hospital. Normally, it is not even considered an option for someone with a history of heart disease or, to be honest, someone as . . . um . . . old as the 9TS. But, we're talking about my sloth. My gym rat sloth. Super sloth. He's in great shape. As long as he passes a stress test, we are good to go. Target date mid April.

So the game plan is immunotherapy followed by PD1 if required and then IPI.

GAME ON!!

this and that . . .

my ancient little Miata has had her bath. Tonight's chicken is getting ready for its debut. We are cleared for the 9TS's appointment with Dr. Kudchadkar on Tuesday, the litter is scooped and the beds made . . . today is free and clear.

Back to the chicken. It got a bath too! In a yogurt, freshly chopped cilantro, massala, olive oil and garlic marinade. But we had to wait until the 9TS left for the gym. There are very few things the sloth refuses to eat. Yogurt, unfortunately is one of them. On the up side, he rarely knows when I have sneaked some into a dish. This will be one of them. I hope.

Anyway, tonight's menu is roasted chicken pieces on a bed of thinly sliced onions, served with red beans and rice. YAY! I get to try out my Caribbean spices and hot sauce. No hot sauce for my hot tamale though, he gets the mellow version . . . gastritis you know.

And then we are off to the Home Show. We like to wander through the convention center and watch the chefs peddle their wares, the hurricane shutter salesman trying to out shout each other and the News Journal circulation staff hawking their rag. There are aluminum siding people, hot tubs folks, insurance salesmen, furniture foisters, plant potters . . . it's an extravaganza of oddities. My favorite thing to do is people watch. Last years prize winner was the woman with the black and white striped Mohawk and white spots dyed on the rest of her gruffly shaved head. She was in her mid 50's. Winner, winner, chicken dinner!!!!

I am going to sneak in a little nap before we go. I have a cuddle buddy. She is currently asleep in my arm pit . . . the only time she has been calm in three days of zipping here and there on high speed. Ah, the energy of youth.

EDIT: The 9TS went back for seconds on the chicken. It was moist and tender and oh so yummy. Then of course he got suspicious and suddenly announced in an accusatory tone, "There was yogurt in it." "How do you know", I squeaked. "I saw you buy it", he grumbled. After half an hour of mumbling, he finally confessed that he'd eat it again. That's my sloth!!!!

project number 23 . . .

so that is about what I would look like if I was doing ballet. Truly. And so why is my making a 'ballet' bag, my latest project?? Glad you asked. Because I found this adorable little pattern here on Carina Gardner's site . . . and because I bought this glorious package of 10" x 10" fabric squares at the quilt shop a few weeks back . . .

So this is my little reversible ballet bag, for which I must find another use and then I will rename it my darling little _____ bag. See?





But it was fun. Sort of a little sewing, a little jigsaw puzzling, a little cat evading . . . they wanted to help and done!

just one of those days . . .

This post is supposed to be about my latest project. I had figured to finish it today but instead, I went to lunch with my old friend Robin. Not that Robin is old mind you, but we've been friends since the mid 80's. In fact it was Robin who gave the kidlet her first pair of high top sneaks when she first learned to walk. The kidlet rocked those blue on teal Reeboks.

Some days, it's just really good to sit in the company of someone who is oh so comfortable to be with. Robin has been through a tough time lately, trying to come to terms with the death of a dear friend she lost to cancer. I don't think you ever 'come to terms', I think the pain finally dissipates enough to let you breathe. One breath at a time until you can finally get your lungs full once again. And so we took the word out of the closet and talked about cancer. Roni's, the 9TS's, her dad's, my mother's, so many people affected. And finally, little bursts of laughter would bubble to the surface.

And thus, we drank our lunch. Slosh. It's been donkey's ages since I have done that. Slosh. Sitting in the Flagler Fish Company yakking about life and death. Slosh. Finally, it was time to head home. As in get in the car to drive . . . Slosh . . . I think that I shouldn't but like most, I made my justifications and slowly, mindfully, made my way home. Slosh. And fell asleep. Zonk. And was awaken by my phone. Hello? It was Robin making sure I was OK. Yes. Zonk.

But before lunch, I pulled over and parked and was immediately accompanied by this beauty:

isn't it gorgeous?

Do you see the reflection of my jelly bean and me in the chrome?? Coolio.

And just one more shot because I can't stand what a wonderful machine it is:

now, if you're thinking I got pulled over by the cops, you are wrong. This baby was ridden by a young man in his early 80's and his equally charming wife and they were there to celebrate his birthday. The new back seat had just been installed since wife was feeling a little uneasy on the old one . . . afraid she might slip off. Happy Birthday Mr. Man on a restored Harley!!!! Happy Birthday indeed!!!

under the weather . . .

so what the heck does that mean . . . under the weather? Someone caught in a rain shower, goes home, gets a cold and is categorized as 'under the weather'???? If someone getting struck with lightening could be said to be 'under the weather', I would get it. They'd probably be six feet under . . . the weather. But where did the phrase come from?

Aha! if I look it up, it still does not make a whole lot of sense:

"Under the weather: Colloquial expression for sick or ill as, for example, to be under the weather with the flu. The phrase "under the weather" came from British sailing ships. When a sailor became ill he was confined below deck out of the weather, so it was said that he was under the weather."

Why don't they call it 'under the deck'? Or simply 'confined', but then I suppose someone would think him pregnant and indisposed. He is neither.

Whatever, the 9TS is 'under the weather'. Not literally, because of course, we do not live on a boat but you get the idea.

He is ailing. Gastritis. GERD. Gee, do you think it unreasonable for someone under a huge amount of stress to have a little tummy upset? I think he is entitled. And so, he has taken to bed and snoring soundly, leaving me little to do but blog. And you know what happens when I blog.

Does the poor sloth get no privacy? Never! Snort.