The Devil Wears Birkenstocks

For those that care...Yesterdays chemo ensemble consisted of the following...A lime green three button mock henley, under which was a non underwire sports bra because you never know when you're going to have run from something or someone. Below that were five pocket khaki orignial fit Gap jeans. Boot cut. And to put it all together a pair of simple black sandals. That was the hardest choice. Red sandals or black. I chose the black and of course during the entire drip I kept looking down and thinking why didn't I choose the red! What was I thinking?! But the whole ensemble thing is so overblown at this point that the fact I was dressed at all was a miracle.

"Woke up, got out of bed, and dragged a comb across my head..." And then I swam, ate, got dressed and my friend Gretchen drove me to chemo where it only took two sticks to find a vain and off I went into the land of poison. Happy, happy, joy, joy poison. I seem to be much better today than I was three weeks ago. My thumbs are working. My arm is not so sore. And I have my appetite.

And speaking of that. So if you'll recall three weeks ago I could not eat. Could not eat for an entire week. And yesterday they weigh me and I have gained three pounds. I believe this is a Jewish girl phenomenon. Don't eat for a week, gain weight. I look at a bagel and my ass gets bigger. My doctor keeps telling me not to lose weight. Are you kidding me? Have you seen my relatives? I think if I didn't eat for six months I would still be five pounds overweight. So this is a real dilemma. My vanity says, hey, who cares if you have cancer, the important thing is to look great. Pudgy with cancer is not good. Worst would be if I lost my hair. Fat and bald, not a good look. But I am told I will not lose my hair so I guess I'll eat. Because they say when they operate they are taking part of my stomach and then I'll have to have very tiny meals and I will definitely lose weight. Right. They have not seen my Aunt Bertha. Never happen in a million years. It's some kind of an odd thigh curse.

Andy came over last night and we watched funny English people and talked about acting and life and good days and bad and cars crashing through fences and when he left I got into bed and read about Barack Obama...again. Call me crazy, but I think I have a slight crush on old water rat Dennis Kucinich. Now there's a wasted vote but the guys got a plan. And for peace, no less. Can you imagine a politician even uttering that word as a possibility? It's just so disappointing listening to all of them talk like...politicians. Trying to please everyone, left right and center. I would love to see Hilary walk out barefoot wearing a peasant blouse and jeans and just say what she really feels. "Hey people, come on. It's all about love, love, love. I love you, man! Repeat after me, peace, love, peace, love..." Hmmmm. What happend to that? Didn't work, did it? But, you know, it should. It really should. It's just getting everyone around the same table, that's the trick. Everyone eating the same hummus. You can't have some people living under rocks in Afghanistan and some in the Hamptons talking about how they'd like to meet the people living under the rocks. Someone has to change positions.

Someone told me that this cancer thing is really going to change my life. If I die, yes, that's a big change. At least I won't have to worry about what to wear. But of course this makes me worry about what to be buried in. But I'm thinking cremation. That's the way to go. Don't have to pick out a pair of shoes. Sorry, that's getting a bit morbid. What I was trying to say was I'm not sure this cancer is going to change my life. In that certain way. I'll have a big new scar and less of a stomach and esophagus, but I can't imagine appreciating anything more than I already do. I feel so lucky. I've got everything I want and everything I need. I've got an ab fab son and great friends. I love teaching and writing.

Not thrilled with my ass. But it's always something.