Last Post...

The oncology causeway has run its course. I still have pixels and graph paper, and feel like a detour. If you want to take a drive with me...click here.

penultimate post...acknowledgements

A host of creatures was responsible for this oncology fairy tale ending. Their calescence and companionship helped us navigate the metastatic labyrinth...and all of its twists and turns: the diagnosis, the prognosis, the abscission decision, the chemo infusions, and the silicone impressions.

I want to acknowledge the following fencibles, fungibles, tangibles, indelibles, and responsibles...

...her Praetorian Guard, for sweeping into action, and planning a campaign of emails, meals, neighborhood walks and more;
...the shoal of chefs, for sustenance during periods of withering appetite;
...the TRS support group sisters, for the serape and its metonymic embrace, a reassuring survivor's caress;
...her parents and her siblings, and my parents and my siblings;
...her zii, tante, and onkels and my tías and tíos;
...her cousins, and my cousins;
...our children;
...our neighbors;
...those who sent care packages and letters;
...a flutter of friends, close-by;
...a flutter of friends, afar;
...our soccer buddies;
...the Bryn Mawr bunch;
...the Princeton anthropology pod;
...the other former Army spouses;
...the surgeons;
...the oncology nurses;
...the oncologist;
...her nausea antagonist-Anzemet;
...the chemo cocktails;
...the blog posters and the lurkers;
...the hats that kept her warm through the hairless winter....
(You can skip the video promenade and enjoy the poses at your own pace by clicking here.)

We walked...

We walked this afternoon, in the local Relay for Life. Daniela shed her bandana and held her head up high, as she along with other survivors walked the first lap. We joined her for the second lap around the track, as others cheered. Click here to keep pace with the images.

...chirurgical cleavage...

Yesterday, she snuck back into Georgetown for a post-op double decker. The plastic surgeon was tickled by the statuesque silicone. (He asked Daniela to schedule a follow-up in three fortnights time, in order to discuss the option of garnishing each scoop with a simulated berry.) The surgical oncologist also sought sight of the spheres. She surveyed satisfactorily, and smiled.

Last week's surgical sequel was actually a double-feature, the surgical oncologist had stepped in to shave a bit of lipid frosting located underneath the dermis (the upper-right quadrant, right scoop), as an added precaution...searching for any stray breast cancer stem-cells...missed by the bilateral mastectomy.

Operating room gossip hinted of a sweet spat between the surgeons. The plastic surgeon second-guessed the largesse...of the shaving sample. The surgical oncologist, perhaps surmised he should stick to the silicone. In the end, these are just rumors, and the surgeons are still friends...their camaraderie a complicated complex of the convex.

Oh...back to the sample, that fatty post-op hors d' oeuvre served up from the pathology parlor. It was cancer-free. So I drew her with delight...a damsel in escapist dress.

Memorial Day Melee and more...

Her freshly-brewed mug of Irish Breakfast tea, half-full, toppled over this morning. The tablecloth soaked up most of the teaine. While flipping homemade pancakes on the griddle, I heard the lament. Ohhh...sheise! Keeeeennnn, can you pass me a sponge? Along with the sponge, I offered up a serving of "don't worry...so you knocked over your tea mug...." Then came her qualifier, part surrealism, part comedy stand-up routine: I didn't knock it over with my hand; I was just getting up from the table...and I can't feel them; I...I knocked it over with my new boob. After I assisted in sweeping up the tea tide, I couldn't help but imagine the warning label captions for this one. (I will spare you those rants.)

In the end, the silicone was unscathed and un-scalded. However, I did notice that the tea mug was bumped a good ten inches. Her new silicone took the last sushi outing a bit too seriously, perhaps, and shape shifted into...Sumo silicone?

Bosom brawl and all, we had a fun holiday weekend. Here are a few images of family gatherings, friendly cookouts and motorcycles roaring into town along Interstate 66, on Sunday for the annual Rolling Thunder rally. (Click here for the curbside view.)

Halogen (Blue) Headlights

She unveiled at approximately 1730 hrs shedding the complimentary surgical brazier and pillow-sized gauze pads. Her review was delicately deferred...accented by aping glances in the mirror. She wasn't sure.... (I was impressed by the symmetry and shape.) She complained, about lift and slope. I told her she just needed to make their acquaintance, perhaps even take them out for a spin, sushi perhaps. She smiled, so we did.

Hours later, she is asleep and I'm typing...still in awe at the prowess of those plastic surgeons. And, I am still processing Daniela's reluctance to celebrate her silicone. She seems indignant, unwilling to compartmentalize the silicone end game from its genealogy.

Here are seven images, life with the silicone seedlings.... (As usual, you can click here and walk through the synthetic garden at your own pace.)

Back Home... (Sounds of Silicone II)

19:14 hrs, we're back home. Daniela has faded away, resting in a deep operatic sleep...induced by a Percocet aria. She is JP drain-free, and will probably be walking around the house tomorrow, unfettered.

A few feet away, I'm staring at the second part of the surgical team's playlist, which was hand delivered to me in the post-operative recovery lounge...a few hours ago. The surgical team closed to an eclectic serenade...Metallica's Hero of the Day, Depeche Mode's Dream On, and Stratovarius' Papillon.

The surgical aperture was immersed in a melody both literal and agricultural. The opening tune was Róisín Murphy's Sow into You. Indeed, silicone seeds sown into her. An enchanting and metaphoric melody by Stratovarius (a 90's Metal band from Finland) ended the show. Papillon, a 1973 movie about an escape from an island prison. Papillon, Gallic utterance for butterfly...the final and most ornamental stage in the Lepidopteran lifecycle.

I glance over at her, a final inspection before taking a nap. Her eyelids flutter. Her oncology migration is almost complete.