T.V. Cancers

I haven't watched Desperate Housewives much this year. It lost a lot of its charm for me. But when I read that they were giving Felicity Huffman's character, Lynette, Hodgkin's lymphoma, I knew I had to start watching again.

And it's really eating at me today. I must say, as a Hodgkin's survivor, I am a little torn about how they're handling it.

I read EW's wonderful "TV Watch" columns to get me up to speed. So I knew going in to it that Lynette had sustained some kind of injury to her shoulder and the scans she had after the accident showed what the doctor thought might be lymphoma. I thought they would start with her getting a lymph node biopsy (usually an outpatient procedure, but still no walk in the park) and getting the dreaded news. But her story started with her on the phone very glibly telling her sister that she had Hodgkin's and saying, "If you have to get a lymphoma, it's the one to get." Hm.

That's very true. Really, if you have to have cancer at all Hodgkin's is a good one to get; it is very curable. The character's nonchalance about the whole thing during her conversation with her sister just didn't sit so well with me. I know Lynette is a strong woman who doesn't let anything get in her way, and who would rather walk on hot coals than appear weak or need help, but telling people that you have cancer, especially family members, can be the hardest part of having cancer. Even if you know deep down that you're going to beat it, and retain that optimism when you tell people you're sick, people usually don't react well to hearing the "C" word and don't let you off the hook as easily as Lynette's sister seemed to. No matter how steely your persona, telling your sister that you have cancer is going to be an emotional moment. Even if, like Lynette, your main purpose for spilling your news is to ask for money for your high insurance deductible.

Most of Lynetts and Tom's struggle last night seemed to be with the financial logistics of cancer treatment. We struggled with that, too. But what I didn't see, and wanted to see, was the elephant in the room of any cancer diagnosis: what if I don't make it?

Maybe the writers will address this next season. And we did get a great little monologue from Lynette's mom, herself a cancer survivor, about how the chemotherapy will take Lynette lower than she's ever been in her life. My favorite line: "You can fight the cancer, or you can fight me. You won't have the strength for both." It seemed to me, though, that Hodgkin's was not given its due respect last night. Yes, it is among the more curable cancers. But the 5-year survival rate is still not 100%. For the stage I had, it's not even in the 90-something percent.

People do die of Hodgkin's lymphoma. Even young, strong people like Lynette. Every so often, I do a Google search to find the latest updates on treatment and such, and inevitably I will come across a web page dedicated to someone lost to Hodgkin's. These stories break me heart; many of these people were young, and underwent treatment successfully once only to have the cancer come back.

Not only do we have to worry about recurrences, which are so much harder to beat, but the treatments themselves damage our bodies. The standard chemotherapy treatment for Hodgkin's can cause lung and heart damage and is associated with an increased risk for a particularly nasty flavor of leukemia. Adding radiation to the mix, like I had, means that heart disease risk goes up even more and adds a risk for both lung and breast cancer. Some risks aren't as deadly, but still life-altering; it takes a long time to get over the fatigue caused by such intense chemotherapy, and because Hodgkin's is essentially a cancer of the immune system, we survivors get sick more than our cancer-free friends and have a harder time recovering from even the common cold. Then there's the whole fertility issue; if you are a woman treated for Hodgkin's past the age of 30, it is very likely you will have early menopause.

T.V. cancers seem a lot different from cancer in real life. So many of the characters experience miraculous recoveries that sadly don't happen that often in real life. I think this is particularly true for breast cancer; it seems every T.V. woman diagnosed with it beats it. Because of this, I didn't think it was too big a deal when my sister's friend was diagnosed with it at a fairly early stage (this was before my own cancer.) Not long after I finished treatment, my sister's friend had a recurrence and only lived a few more weeks. She was 40 years old. Look at Elizabeth Edwards and Tony Snow; not even the famous are given happy endings when it comes to cancer.

Maybe I am being a little too harsh on the Housewives. Perhaps this is a setup to show how the very tough Lynette will be shaken by cancer. I hope so; when I watched regularly, Lynette was the character I most identified with. She admitted that dirty little secret that parenting isn't easy and broke down from the stress of trying to be the perfect mom. I don't think it would be fair for her to have that admission, but then breeze through Hodgkin's lymphoma as though it's no more serious than having gall stones. It would be a slap in the face to the thousands who die of this cancer every year.

And you know what bothers me the most? I am going to be glued to the television every Sunday night next season, watching how they treat her illness. Darnit.

Local Wine + Chipotle Chicks = A Darn Good Time

Ahh, we went to the Northern Kentucky Wine Festival last night and sampled a surprisingly good array of wines grown right here in our state. Most of them were sweet wines, which I am not as fond of, but we found an excellent Merlot that both Jason and I loved. We sampled multiple wines at five different booths, and I was in pretty good spirits (har!) by the end of the night. If I hadn't bought a couple of my favorite bottles, I wouldn't have much of a memory of the evening. But, oh, I do remember the Chipotle Chicks.

The Chicks are these two women from Falmouth (represent!), which incidentally is where Jason and I spent the first year of our married lives. They grow jalapenos and use them to create something they call the "Kentucky Chipotle". They let their peppers ripen to red and then smoke them with Kentucky hickory. Then they combine their chipotles with home-grown tomatillos and habaneros and make a great smoky hot sauce as well as a variety of salsas. The kicker? A habanero jelly that made me want to cry with joy (and heat.) They're a small operation now and aren't available at retail markets yet, so I just had to buy some of their stuff right there at the festival. And I may just have to make the 45-minute trek to Falmouth to stock up again when that runs out. It's some awesome stuff.

I am really proud of my state. Move over, bourbon and horses. Here come the Chipotle Chicks.

Urgent American Idol Update

Well, I was right. Farewell, Melinda Doolittle. You were a class act, and one of the best reality talent show contestants ever. I am sure your future holds great things; someone will be smart enough to throw you a record deal or a stint on Broadway.

Good luck, Jordin and Blake. As promised, I am through with AI. I'm tired of falling for a finalist (Daughtry, Jennifer Hudson) only to see them not make it to the finals. Heck, I'm still pining for faded 1st-runner-up Bo Bice. I guess what I am looking for in a recording artist isn't what the rest of American wants. And I am accepting enough to deal with it. But I am also accepting of the fact that my days as an American Idol junkie are over. Goodbye, AI. It was fun (sometimes) while it lasted.

I Love You, Mindy Doo!

Even though I've been watching this season's American Idol, I hadn't yet been compelled to pick up the phone and vote. My favorite from the get-go has been Melinda Doolittle, with her flawless intonation and interpretation, but I never felt worried enough about her departure to ring her up some votes (that, and the fact that I try to get in bed early on Tuesday nights so I can stay up for Lost the next day.) Last night, though, she wowed me even more than usual and I had to give her some telephonic love.

And now I'm worried. I had a much easier time getting through for Miss Doolittle than I ever have for voting for an AI contestant. That may mean that not too many other people were voting for her and clogging up her lines.

Seriously, America. How do you not see that she is probably the most gifted vocalist to ever grace that stage? I really don't think the girl hit a wrong note the entire season. And no one "gets" the songs like she does.

I know Jordin is probably the most marketable, and Blake is very hip and innovative. But after watching Melinda put the smackdown on a Tina Turner song, I realized I so want to buy a Mindy Doo CD.

After placing about a dozen calls on her behalf, I told Jason that if Melinda Doolittle gets eliminated tonight, I will never ever watch another episode of American Idol again. Not that that matters; little old me not watching isn't exactly going to kill the rating of America's favorite show. But if other MD fans ban with me...

If you love Mindy Doo like I do, stand by me. And let's hope it's not necessary: maybe America will vote right and put Miss D. in the finals. One can only hope (and dial the digits.)

The Month of the Spider

Okay, so apparently May is some sort of spider month and I just didn't get the memo. You've probably already read about the suspected spider bite I had last week. Then, Ainsley drew a picture of the two of us for Mother's Day where we definitely looked, if not spider-y, then certainly daddy-long-legs-y. Friday night, we saw Spiderman 3. And then there was last night...

You've heard of my arachnophobia, and I bragged about it getting better right here in these pages. Any progress I made got trumped last night by a veritable Shelob.

I pulled back Ainsley's shower curtain to get her bath ready and saw it lounging in the tub--a wolf spider as big as my hand. Not my palm; my whole hand. Of course, I screamed and froze. I knew immediately that this was a job too big for me and fetched the resident spider killer.

He laughed, thinking I had exaggerated its proportions. Rolled TV Guide in hand, he headed into battle, his trusty sidekick (Ainsley) at his side. That's when I heard it: "Good lord!" Ahh, validation that this was no ordinary house invader.

Ainsley bailed out, saying that she decided she's afraid of big spiders. Jason killed it, and told me later he had never seen a spider that big in his life (except on TV.) Every time he talked about it last night, he visibly shuddered. I don't blame him; that behemoth shivered my timbers, too.

I just hope this is the last of the spider-themed happenings at Casa de Cranky. I don't know if I can stand this being a trend.

Mother's Day

I didn't have a terrific mother's day. I got sunburned trying to get our mulching done, I had to fight with my pharmacy for the umpteenth time trying to get my flexible spending account card to work right with them, and we had to juggle cars so we could drop Jason's off at the shop for what could end up being expensive repairs.

But this morning as I was throwing together my lunch and getting Ainsley some juice, I saw the card she made for me in preschool. On the front is a picture she drew of the two of us; we kind of look like big spiders because she attached our arms and legs right to our heads. We look very happy, and Ainsley told me that she's smiling in the picture because we're at the park and she loves it when I take her to the park.

In a few days, my sunburn will fade, everything will be straightened out one way or the other with the pharmacy, and Jason's car will be working again. All the things that, in my mind, "ruined" mother's day will be forgotten. But that little card...that, I will keep forever.

Spiders, My Butt, and Other Truly Scary Things

I have this thing with spiders. I hate them. I am afraid of them. And I'm pretty sure this fear has come back to bite me in the ass. Literally.

Yesterday during my glorious mental health day, I decided to inspect the bug bite on my rear that has been making me crazy. This was neither easy or pleasant (few things are more horrifying than your own derriere in a mirror) but since this bite had been aggravating me for a couple of days and I was a little worried that something weird was going on back there, I had to take a look. I was worried that this wasn't just a mosquito bite, and I think I'm right on that: in the center of this bite, I think I see two little, red pin-pricks. I think those might be fang marks. And I think I know how it happened.

Sunday was too gorgeous to stay inside, so I played out with Ainsley in the very high grass before Jason came out to cut it. While we were playing, I looked down and saw a smallish spider crawling up my pants. I danced a little jig to try to shake it off, trying not to scream and look petrified in front of Ains. But he was a fast little booger and I never did actually see him come off my pants. I think my dance of terror may have shaken him inside my capri pants and thus, the bite. I shudder to think about it.

Believe it or not, my arachnophobia has gotten better. My mom loves to tell people how when I was a high-school senior she was awakened by blood-curdling screams coming from the bathroom one morning; she just knew someone had broken in and was stabbing me to death in the shower. As she sprinted in to my rescue, she noticed I was alone in the shower save for a small yellow house spider dangling from a single strand of web in front of me. I had turned around in the shower and come face to face with said spider, and was so paralyzed with fear that I couldn't get away from it; I just started screaming. She had to kill it for me. I am not proud of this.

For most of my marriage Jason has taken up the title "Spider Killer"; he gets summoned at all hours to kill 8-legged creatures that startle me in the bathroom or bedroom. But once I became a mom, that maternal protectiveness kicked in and I can kill most spiders in the house without assistance. I may still jump and squeal if one takes me by surprise as I enter a room, or if a really furry one gets in my path, but I am making progress. I just don't like the thought of one crawling up my britches.

And speaking of horrors...how about Lost last night? The one scene in the creepy cabin with "Jacob?" EEEK! When the voice said, "Help me," I got chills. Kudos to Lost for the scariest scene I've seen on network TV since The X-Files. 'Cause even though I don't like being spooked by spiders, I loves me a good scary movie or show every now and then...