I am Cancer-Free

This will be my last post on cancer.  I no longer have it.  This part of my life is over.  Ovah!  Forevah!  This post is full of graphic information, so if you want all the details, read on.  If you don't need the play-by-play, just know that I am cured of cancer, and that's all you really need to know.

I had my radical hysterectomy on December 18th.  It was a six-plus hour operation that I awoke from around 9 p.m.  I was petrified about deep vein thrombosis, a blood clot that occurs after surgeries and can kill.  Since I had a stroke less than four years ago, I was at increase risk for blood clots.  Yeah!  So, after one night lying down, I was up and around the next morning.  After being instructed on foley care and Lovenox injections (again), and a screw up about visiting nurse service, I was discharged.  For those of you who don't know, a foley is a tube inside your bladder that leads to a bag that collects your urine.  Or, at least, that's the idea, but sometimes is doesn't work as expected and pee ends up on the living room floor, or so I am told.  One excruciatingly bumpy car trip home, and I've been recovering ever since.

A week and a day after the surgery, the foley was removed.  One day after the foley was taken out, I started leaking.  Gushing, actually.  It started on a Thursday, but not in full force.  It was just a sneak peak; not the full package.  Friday, around 4 p.m., was when it began to pour.  I remember the time exactly, because Mr. Murphy made sure that the serious issue began precisely when my onocologist left for the weekend.  So, I had to wait until Monday to see the doctor.  She told me it wasn't urine, which was good, because the idea of peeing oneself, even after a surgery, is disturbing.  During this doctor visit, she gave me the results of pathology: no signs of cancer in the lymph nodes.  I was cancer-free.

The gushing lasted for one week exactly.  It was either lymphatic or peritoneal fluid.  We will never know for sure which, since it ended before I could get my urogram CT scan.  So that's the whole dramatic tale.  I was aware that I had cancer for two and a half months.  I went from the sinking feeling when the doctor who performed the biopsy needed me to come into the office for the results (uh-oh), to morbidity, to relief in less than three months.  So it's been another crazy emotional ride.

I made a promise to my daughter that if the surgery was successful and I was cancer-free, that we would get her a pet mouse.  So, a week ago, we went to Pet Palace and welcomed two new white mice into our home.  The sequence of pictures I took with her and one of her mice is so joy-filled, it really was the capping event of blessedly happy news.  Now, hopefully the tumor-prone mice will stay cancer-free!

Someone Brave Enough to Try Teaching Before Judging Teachers: Teach Tony Danza

First observation: the students are not in
groups: what a rookie!

I couldn't help myself.  I was in the library and I saw a "New Arrival" by Tony Danza, a book where he documents his year as a new teacher in an inner city school.  The title alone, I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had, sucked me in despite myself.  I was aware that Mr. Danza had a television show about this experience, and I even caught a few scenes.  I'm not sure how realistic any classroom documentary can ever be, in view of the fact that no one acts naturally for cameras.  But, I find Mr. Danza a likeable guy and I am always looking for confirmation that teaching is not the cake walk that pundits and non-teachers would have you believe.  I still am waiting for a real life teacher to corroborate how easy a job it is.  I checked the book out of the library.

This is a part of teaching

And his verdict?  That the only thing that will change American education is the students wanting an education.  Hear, hear, Tony!  I've been saying that for years.  Teachers can try to engage, motivate, threaten, cajole, tailor the lessons, relate, joke, sing, dance, bring in ponies; none of it matters if the children aren't invested.  And Mr. Danza had a plethora of advantages that other first year teachers don't have, such as a full-time co-teacher, access to resources like a copy machine, pre-selected students, and one fifth of a typical class load.  And yet, even though he did not have the full grueling experience of teaching, he says it's one of the toughest jobs out there.  It's actually almost impossible.

I've always wanted a reality show to film anti-teacher authorities placed in inner-city classrooms.  That's a program that I would watch.  I figured that the security and privacy concerns would prohibit such a show from ever coming to fruition.  But, boy, would those people ever have a change of heart after having to walk the walk!

And this is also a part of teaching!

I really think that children will only take their studies seriously when their parents are involved.  Sure, there are always outliers who will work hard despite parental neglect (I've seen it), but by and large, kids are motivated only if their parents show interest and continually keep tabs on their child.  Check their homework.  Check their homework notebook.  If they say they don't have any homework, have them sit down for an hour and study something else of their choosing: Greek mythology, the history of anesthesia, how to sculpt a superhero, indoor gardening, felting, or, heaven forbid, math, English, social studies or science.  Just don't take the path of least resistance.  Do it the hard way.  You'll be glad you did.

I'd like to print an excerpt from the book here, because it's my blog, and I like it:

Whether or not the educators who are trying to raise up America's students can actually set and meet higher academic standards, our cultural values make their job next to impossible.  It's so much easier for pundits and politicians to point fingers and blame the people who are in the trenches every day than it is to get in there with them, or even to find out what actually goes on in those trenches.  It's so much easier for parents to blame teachers when their kids get in trouble than to do the heavy lifting required at home to keep those kids on track.  And it's so much easier for us a nation to cross our fingers and hope that we'll "get lucky" with the innovative "solutions" being tested on America's schools today than it is for us to roll up our sleeves and invest our own time, talent, and money in schools that are even now - with or without us - shaping our nation's future.

If I learned anything during my year at Northeast, it's that the blame game serves no purpose in our educational system.  Sure, there are some bad teachers, and some bad administrators, just as there are failing corporate CEOs and lousy actors, but the vast majority of educators I met at Northeast were not bad so much as they were discouraged and overwhelmed.  The rising numbers of low-income and immigrant children, the underwhelming involvement of parents, and the impact of a culture that sneers at knowledge instead of treasuring it all make the classroom a very tough place to work.  Beyond that, the sheer logistics of teaching, counseling, comforting, coaching, and inspiring 150 students each and every day are beyond the capability of most normal human beings.  Yet public school teachers are expected to perform these tasks calmly and brilliantly while simultaneously documenting and evaluating every move they and their students make.  Oh, and don't forget staying up-to-the-minute and responsive to those constantly changing district mandates and national policy shifts.  All for less money than the average plumber, real estate agent or sales manager makes.

 

 So, I guess Tony Danza can count on one more fan.  What he did was brave and a little foolhardy, and resulted in insight and wisdom, which is right up my alley.

Falling for the Comparison Trap

To make good on one of my resolutions, the one which has me living in a permanent state of nirvana and bliss, I am analyzing the envious part of my life.  I am a green-eyed monster when I look at those who travel, take great photos, dress fashionably, bake, decorate like Manual Canovas, play the guitar, can French braid hair, are funny, have green roofs, hold hands with their husband, run triathalons, have more blog followers; oh, the list could go on and on.  There is quite a lot of areas where I feel inadequate.

On the one hand, I  feel that modern humans, or at least the humans that make up the American middle class, have their priorities a mess, myself included.  We worry about whether our duvet covers match the throw pillows, if our cars have bluetooth and on-board GPS, whether our smile is white enough, and if our hair is buttery or honey blond.  We cannot live without our Keurig, food processor, flat iron, cellphone, or pillowtop mattress.  Until I redid my kitchen, I was a miserable complainer; if I worked, then I felt I deserved a nice kitchen.  Actually, I still do complain about the trivial and the nonessential, and I probably always will.  We do this because that's what everyone else is worried about.  But, the better part of this world is and has been populated with people who are mostly concerned with survival, which makes me feel like a spoiled neurotic.

On the other hand, I feel this pressure is exascerbated by media of all types.  When you look at shiny catalogs, the women are so stylish, the homes are clean and tidy and beautiful, and the refrigerators are stocked with Perrier and fresh fruit and a beautiful cake.  I want that life.  Social media adds to the angst by showing only the good parts of your friends' lives.  Oh, wow, my cousin got her children on skis already, and my friend take hikes and captures professional shots with her expensive cameras, and my single friends eat out and have fine wine every night!  I want those lives, too.  I love that I can keep in touch with everyone all at the same time, but let's be honest, does anyone ever share a picture of themselves eating cereal from the box with bedhead and leg hair in their pyjamas on a Thursday afternoon?  No, they only post the fun times, the good food, the wonderful vacation.

Mine just doesn't even come
close.  I swear the lamp near
the stairwell is lit.
 

I do a huge amount of "research"* for my dollhouse projects. And I come across all kinds of talented, creative, amazing people. Inevitably, I end up comparing myself to them, and I don't really measure up.  Some examples include:

• A man, with a flair for dramatic French names, who is making a miniature French "Maison de Grands Rêves".  Oh, la, la!
• Dutch dollhouses that I swear are really just page scans from Elle Decor, because there is just no way!



I have to coin a new word for
this: RidiKRISlous.

• Kris, the woman that I copied my mattress from.  She makes furniture from paper, and everything looks amazing. 

I just have to trust that my mini work is good enough.  And, if I don't compare my products to others, I should be happy.  Mostly...  If we could just redo the basement.  And my skin was smoother.

*a little known synonym for research is procrastinate or waste time

Printing Dollhouse Rugs - Fast, Easy and Satisfying

How often does something turn out to be easy?  In my experience, almost never.  I'll go to an art museum and think to myself, "I could do that".  Or, I'll read an online tutorial and say, "easy".  But then when I try it, I realize that, no, I cannot.  I have abandoned more hare brained schemes than I care to remember.  So, today, when I tried to print a rug on my computer printer, I couldn't believe that it was so simple!  And the results are stunning. 

Here's how you do it.  You take spray adhesive and spray a piece of card stock.  Then, you iron a piece of linen, and affix it to the card stock.  Put it through your printer.  "Hem" the edges with fabric glue.  That's it.  Lurve!

Now, tell me the truth, is the kitchen too yellow?  Because I'm thinking that it is.

Making Plants for a Dollhouse

Remember how I mentioned that I always seem to find some useless item that just fits into a plan that I'm hatching?  Well, today was another instance of that sort of positive karma.  Last night, I realized that my dollhouse needs some foliage.  I thought up a plan where I would print out leaves, painstakingly cut them out, and glue them to wire to form a plant.  Then, I saw a terrific tutorial, albeit in Spanish, but quite well documented with pictures, that I just knew would be easier than my cockamamie scheme.  So that was plan B. 

Before

Then, out of the blue, comes plan C.  Just today, on the way to dropping off my daughter at her school, there was a coffee table that caught my eye.  It had large crystals supporting a glass and mirrored top, and gold legs.  It was quite the glamorous piece of furniture.  Alas, it was far too heavy for me to lift, since I am recuperating from a major surgery and was instructed to pick up nothing heavier than a gallon of milk.  But, in between the mirror and the glass was a small planter filled with plastic flowers.  And I knew right away that I had just discovered my miniature plants.

The large planter is a Barbie planter, formerly pink, spray painted white. I swear, I don't know what I did before I found plastic primer.  I dry brushed the once-green, now faded to yellow, ferny things that were surrounding my flower cache.  The planter had stylized flowers in it, that were removeable, so I placed the fern-like stems into the holes.  The other planter was the top  of a plastic lighting fixture for a Barbie dog (don't ask).  The flowers are a dried seed head of a chive plant, spray painted pink and then dry brushed on the stems.


The inspiration

The spider plant pot I fashioned after a Bjorn Wiinblad "face vase".  It looks more like I modeled it after Sesame Street's Bert, but it will do for now.  The leaves were the petals of the fortuitously found flowers, that I primed white and then dry brushed three different shades of green.  The single baby spider plant is the piece of plastic that holds the plastic flowers onto the stem, glued to a tendril of a green painted paper clip.  I crammed it all into the pot, and voila!

So, here they are, my plants.  Oh, and yes, since my daughter plays with this, with her friends, I fully expect these to be completely broken and beaten when it is time to unveil the finished dollhouse in May.  I need you to know that I am aware of that.

Kitchen Papered and Floored, Made Dinette Set Match, Fixed Petit Confort Couch and Made Living Room Tables Silver

There is truly no better way to make progress on a project than to not have to work!  I haven't posted any of my improvements in a while because Blogger has been having an issue with uploading images "for some users on Internet Explorer" since January 4th.  Of course, I would be one of the users affected.  They only just posted the workaround, which was to use the HTML editor.  I tried everything, believe me, except, of course, using the HTML editor.  Ah, well, it just makes for a meatier post!



The things I can accomplish!   I'm still having issues placing the pictures correctly, as you will no doubt notice.  Here are just some of the things I have done while I restore my health:

 

Dining Room: For some unknown reason, I had two brown dining room chairs with green pads, and two dining room chairs with red pads.  So, I spray painted the whole set white to match and to cover up the rose decal on table top. 


Different couch, changed color
of tables

Living Room: I had a Reac Petit Confort sofa that we got last year for Christmas.  We also got a battery powered Fisher Price yellow Volkswagon, which ran over the Petit Confort on Christmas on its maiden voyage, which is why it was not yet in the Keystone house.  I learned a lesson about delicate miniatures, four-year olds and battery operated cars in the house.  I finally fixed the couch (the back legs were torn off).  Also, I sprayed the coffee table and side table silver for added glamour.



Kitchen: I finished the floor and wallpaper in this room.  I added the Tomy kitchen set that I already had, plus some Lala Loopsy chairs and accessories, a Reac shell chair, and a high chair that my neighbor sold us last year.  The table is CPG brand.  The cereal on the table is Croonchy Stars - I made it from a JPEG of an actual cereal box from the 1980's.   Take a close look at the picture.  I papered the walls in Dresden Yellow art paper.







Bedroom: I'm experimenting with furniture.  I removed most of the "Made in West Germany" furniture that started this whole escapade, and replaced it with an ETA math manipulative bed with a real fur throw, and "Made in Hong Kong" dresser and armoire set.  I think it will pop better when I add the wallpaper and flooring.  Right now I'm liking the "before" better.

Malala Leaves the Hospital

I really cannot believe that she not only

survived, but appears perfectly healed after less

than three months.  She is a miracle.

Happy news today (okay, yesterday) about Malala, the Pakistani school girl shot by the Taliban, who was released from the hospital.  She was cared for in the United Kingdom, and I was hopeful that her father, Ziauddin Yousufzai, would continue to work as diplomat in the Pakistani consulate in Birmingham, keeping his daughter safe, but it appears that he wishes for her to return to the country that nearly killed her.  Luckily (?), she still needs outpatient care, so that return will not be soon, but al-Qaeda and the Taliban do not give up on their causes despite initial failure.  (One of the conspirators in the 1993 WTC bombing attempt said "next time it will be very precise and WTC will continue to be one of our targets in the US unless our demands are met")  These people are serious.

Says Yousufzai,

"I first laughed at it because all of our sacrifices, my personal [sacrifices], or this attack on my daughter, cannot have such a cheap purpose that we would go to some other country and live the rest of our life there,"

This quote was from back in October; so will he have changed his mind by now?  He has a diplomatic assignment for up to five years, and the Pakistani government is paying for all of Malala's expenses.  I say he'd be a fool to return, but then, maybe I'm a coward.  If my child's safety is at all in question, I'm fleeing like a preppy murderer.  I really cannot get a make on this guy.  I hope that Malala recovers to the health that she enjoyed before being shot.  I wish that girls in Pakistan, and everywhere, will be educated freely and safely.  Are these two wishes mutually exclusive?  I hope not.  God bless Malala.