Over the Tracks

He’s good. She’s good. He’s just Duckie. ~Pretty In Pink

Remember the movie “Pretty In Pink” where Andie Walsh, played by Molly Ringwald is from the other side of the tracks and is constantly taunted by the rich girls? Well, this scene has been constantly playing over and over in my head for the past week. Just for the record…I loved that movie and dyed my hair the same color as Molly Ringwald’s hair. I even started wearing a ton of pink too.

The difference between Andie Walsh and I was that I grew up in an upper-middle class neighborhood. I had everything I needed and everything I wanted. At the time it never occurred to me what side of the tracks I lived on because I didn’t see people that way. Looking back I can know see that the friends I had were also from upper-middle class families. Perhaps we were just all in the same school classes or after school clubs. Or maybe subconsciously I did see a difference.

Last week my daughter went to a science camp that was held at one of the middle schools in our school district. The same school district where I went to high school. Every day when we went to pick her up I noticed we passed some HUGE homes.

I also took notice to the very fancy and luxurious cars of the parents picking up their children that were in the parking lot. It’s not that Dude or I drive beat up, old cars. He drives a Toyota and I drive a Honda…both pretty nice cars, but they are not a Lexxus or Mercedes of which I saw many. I also noticed the way the other parents were dressed. Again, we don’t dress like paupers but when people are wealthy they tend to dress that way. There was an obvious difference between us and them.

On the last day of camp there was an open house for the children to show off the experiments and projects they worked on all week. At the open house I ran into an old friend I went to high school with. In high school we lived in the same neighborhood but I remember she was pretty poor compared to the rest of us. In fact I remember that she had to borrow a prom gown one year because she couldn’t afford one.

I said, “hello” and was pretty excited to see her. Then she asked me where I lived. That’s when the conversation went south quickly because I apparently live on the wrong side of the tracks. She, on the other hand lives in one of the wealthy new developments on the right side of the tracks. SERIOUSLY.

It never occurred to me that the railroad tracks…and river…were the class dividing line in our school district. It also never occurred to me that I was considered as part of the lower class for living on this side of the tracks.

Me? Low class? There is no way.

So now my kids have been labeled as low class because they are from the other side of the tracks. My oldest one starts middle school in September and she is starting out like Andie Walsh…Pretty In Pink…because pink is her favorite color. Now if I could only find her a friend like Duckie.

It was never my intention to stay in this neighborhood. I went back to school in 2002 so that I could get a better job. I never thought I’d get cancer and I never thought the economy would be this bad six years later. Unfortunately things drastically changed.

I had a long talk with my children about living in such a small house and living in this neighborhood. They told me that they love this house. They told me that they don’t want a big house. Teenie told me that one of her friends has a big house and her friend’s father is always at work, making money to pay for the house.

They both told me that they don’t care what other people think. They both told me that they would rather have two parents at home who love them than have two parents constantly working to put a BIG roof over their heads.

My little neighborhood is far from low class. We are the working class just like most of the United States. I’m not sure how my town got labeled the way it did but how fortunate am I that I have kids who think the way they do? That will get them very far in life. So perhaps I screwed up my master plan to get us out of this neighborhood and over to the other side of the tracks but I must have done something right with those kids of mine.

So why can’t I get the theme song from “Pretty In Pink” out of my head? Duckie???

Power of Blog

No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow. ~Euripides

Yesterday I had the pleasure of being a guest on Karl’s radio show called Secondhand Radio. If you missed the show you can listen to it here:

We covered all kinds of subjects from kids, music, and the blogging community, just to name a few.

An interesting topic came up in our discussion. What happens to our blogs in the event something happens to us? For instance, you know that I have cancer. What if I end up in the hospital or suddenly pass away? How would you know?

This is something I’ve been thinking about for quite a while actually. The hosting of my site is paid for the next two years give or take a month. I did that…just in case but what about a final post? What would I want my final words to the blogging community to be? The thought of my blog abruptly ending some day with a post of how pissed off I am at some institution seems disheartening.

Although it’s typical Clusterfook fashion.

In light of that discussion I’ve given Karl “Power of Blog”…kinda like Power of Attorney, except insert “Blog” where “Attorney” stands. I’ve told Dude that in the event something happens he should contact Karl either by phone or email and Karl then has Power of Blog to get the news out.

I realize it sounds kind of morbid but don’t you ever wonder what has happened to a blogger who has just disappeared? All of us are going to die and in my case I’d want you to know what happened.

And of course a final post is my way of getting in the last word…

SecondHand Radio

Today at 5:00 PM EST I will be Karl’s guest on Secondhand Radio.  I had the pleasure of meeting Karl at TequilaCon this year when he was in Philadelphia (YO PHILLY!).   I absolutely love him.

Be sure to tune in because Karl is an awesome host! 

Disclaimer:  DO NOT DRINK BEVERAGES DURING SHOW.  I am not responsible if you spit out your drink on to your keyboard or monitor because I’ve said something inappropriate or ridiculous.

Picture:  Karl and I at the North Bowl, Philadelphia, PA - May 3, 2008

A Woman Without A Flag

We have no right to ask when sorrow comes, “Why did this happen to me?” unless we ask the same question for every moment of happiness that comes our way. ~Author Unknown

How do I write this post without it sounding like a sob story? I certainly don’t want to sound dramatic but at this moment, this very moment I feel as if I’m going to lose it. Completely lose it. I’m about five seconds from having a nervous breakdown. Thank God it only takes about 30 minutes for the Xanax to kick in.

Yes, I am taking tranquillizers. You would too if you were me, I’m pretty sure of it and certainly if after the visit I had with my doctor on Friday. It’s going to take a heap of healing yoga AND tranquillizers for me to remain calm. I don’t believe that I have that much inner sanity left. Perhaps I do, but at this moment I’m finding it difficult to channel it.

My sanity has left the building. Should you see it, please send it home.

(Dude is testing the remain .5 ounces of it by incessantly banging pots and pans in the kitchen…please tell him to stop before I go ballistic…thanksomuch.)

Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out.

O.K.

I realize I probably sound like a deranged lunatic but bear with me because this is just outrageous and unbelievable…at least to me.

Something I try NOT to do in relation to my illness is get all technical and medical because it’s not necessary. I get the information from my doctor and educate myself thoroughly so that I’m on top of my game and so that I understand what they are saying to me. I do LOTS of research. It’s all part of MY game plan in this fight.

So far, so good.

Everything was pretty cut and dry up until a couple of weeks ago when the doctor told me I had a rare form of stomach cancer. I felt relieved that there was an answer to the mystery puzzle we were trying to solve and that I finally fit into some kind of cancer “category”.

I also felt like I had a new color, a new ribbon and a new flag…

For four years I’ve had a teal ribbon awareness flag in my garden in support of ovarian cancer awareness. I’ve spoken to at least 100 women, if not more about ovarian cancer. It’s been my flag to fly. Two weeks ago I took down that teal flag and replaced it with a periwinkle ribbon awareness flag…periwinkle, the color of stomach cancer. My new flag to fly.

Then I went to see the doctor on Friday and he had the written pathologists final report.

This is where I break my rule of being all technical and medical…just this one time and only this one time,

“The overall impression is this is a cyst papillary adenocarcinoma of unknown primary that could very well represent a primary urachal carcinoma or a carcinoma derived from other embryonic rests in the region. It is the opinion of this pathologist that the two processes, though they may be related in some distant way via propensity represent 2 different primary processes.”

Edit: I also have a CEA marker that measured 57.8 and a C125 marker that measured 318. The CEA marker would indicate that I have colon or gastric cancer. The CA125 marker would indicate that I have a reproductive cancer. The two together indicate that I have something rare in correlation with the pathologist’s report.

So, what does that mean? It means that I have a very, very, very, very rare cancer that no one has ever seen and no one knows how to treat. And there is a reason I’ve put all that information in this post. I’m hoping by some freak chance a rockstar oncologist or rockstar oncology researcher is going to search the Internet looking for THIS CANCER because they have the answers I need, the cure I need.

In the meantime I’m searching for a rockstar oncologist. I’m hoping that I find him/her in New York City in two weeks. If not in NYC, then maybe in Boston. And GOD, please tell me there is some foundation out there that helps people like me, who have been laid off, denied unemployment and cannot collect Social Security…with funding to travel.

I’ve never asked “why me?” but c’mon. Why? How do I make sense of this? How do I get the doctors to stop saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.” How do I get them NOT to give up on me?

Am I suppossed to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to die? Is that what I’m suppossed to do now? I can’t do that. I cannot walk around with my heart in my throat when I look at my two children knowing the clock is ticking and that every moment I have with them is a “last moment” because that’s where my heart is right now.

Fuck me, I don’t even have a flag anymore. Exactly what am I suppossed to do with the new flag in my garden now?

In Memoriam

In Memory of the Puppy Monster