I didn’t cry The first time I saw the epic 2018 version of A Star is Born I didn’t cry. I teared up a little, who wouldn’t Instead, I saw the movie as one of hope Risks taken and rewarded I was the girl who wanted more from this modern world I had found what […]
I haven’t been in Put Out to Pasture in awhile. I just want to encourage everyone to follow my sister’s books as she charts her efforts to suppress metastatic breast cancer. She writes beautifully….
No poetic voice tonight as my shedded body finally lays down in a bed, not attached to an iv for the first time in 9 hours.
The start was fine. Got hooked up and went through the basics and was administered progeta fine. Then we started the Herceptin, which I had every week for a full year and never had a reaction. This time I had shortness of breath, flushing, and bad headache, they have me some benedryl but I must have been too far into the reaction because I felt like ice was flowing through my veins and I was shivering uncontrollably and then started to vomit repeatedly.
While it felt like this went on for hours, it was probably more like 30 minutes. They had to stop the herceptin, stabilize me with more meds and then restart the hereceptin with a very slow drip. I tolerated it better…
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What has been on my mind in the two months since I was last in this space? Here’s one small sample. I find myself wondering if there is a relationship between the genuinely horrid, double-negative combination that is a Chelada (Budweiser combined with Clamato, which is tomato juice combined with clam juice, with a touch of salt and lime in a can—also available in Chelada Picante with a spicy kick) and the propensity for littering. My wanderings over dozens of miles of roads and trails behind our rental house tells me that Budweisers of all types are the beer can of choice for littering. I’m a self-confessed beer snob, anyway, and I wonder why people drink something so tasteless? Is the bland sense of slightly fermented barley water why they have to add tomatoes and clam juice? I’ve walking my dogs more in these glorious, balmy days. Once we’re away from any possibility of traffic, off in Forest Service land, I listen to audiobooks, take notes on my phone, and try to learn the Colorado wildflowers. The blue hues of Budweiser cans, occasionally substituted bythe orange-reds of Chelada cans, can’t be found in my wildflower book. The sandy aluminum I pluck out of the ditches held tasteless hop-water tossed into nature by even more tasteless riffraff.