Guest post

Greetings, Critbritlit fans - just a quick post to let you know that your usual host will be back up and posting anon. She's just taking care of a little brain business. Stay tuned for more of her words of wisdom.

Respectfully yours,
The Other Half

new possibilities

So the news down home is that there may be the possibility of getting me back on my feet and walking again. This would be amazing, because as of right now, I cannot walk at all. I can barely even get around with a walker.

But we met with a new oncologist, whose specialty is neuro-oncology, and he thinks he can get me back on my feet again. It's almost too much to hope for.

The problem, he thinks, may simply be fluid build up in the brain. Excuse me if this is a TMI moment ("if"! I already know it is!). But what this means is that they can fix me, and it might not even be that hard. Getting rid of the fluid build-up wouldn't get rid of the tumor (which according to all reports was already smaller), but it would get me a long way back to where I was before I lapsed again.

Could it be possible?

guilty confession

I kind of have a thing for trashy celebrity magazines. I love reading about who's dating whom (English teacher alert: note correct use of the accusative!) and who's done what utterly frivolous and silly thing lately. Don't ask me to explain or justify it. It doesn't make sense to me, either.

This week I am enthralled by Lindsay Lohan's pallid and spotty druggy skin as she finds herself posting bail once again. I find myself thinking that a brain tumor might be rather good for her. That's a horrible thing to say, of course. At the very least, it might make her wake up so she could see how badly she's blown her tremendous opportunity.

I think it all the time, reading these over these people's antics: "A good brain tumor would set her right!" Or at least, maybe it would teach her to be thankful for the gifts she's got, because you one day it could all just disappear and that will be that. That's a horrible thing to say, of course. At the very least, it might make her wake up so she could see how badly she's blown her tremendous opportunity.

But poor, pathetic Miss Lindsay won't need to learn any appreciation, because Lindsay Lohan will always have second chances aplenty.

Or at least, I hope she will...because she's going to need them.

what the heck is a slate card?

I've just received my new credit card from Chase Bank, and it seems I have been demoted from platinum to "slate."

Slate? What the heck is that? It's not even a metal. As per usual, they have increased the amount I am allowed to borrow to the entire domestic product of small economies. So it's not like they're limiting my credit or anything. They apppear, if anything, to believe that slate is better than Platinum. I guess I don't get it. Slate? Isn't that a form of rubble you frequently find at the base of tall hills?

Way to go, Chase. I guess the next level is poop status. I wonder what color they'll choose?

summer!

So things are still humming along here... we're up to July, and already I can see it's going to be a gorgeous summer day. Although I'm doing much better than I was, we've decided to clear my schedule for Fall, so I guess now it's going to be Spring semester before I come back to work. By then, the hope is, I'll be back not just at partial capacity but at nearly 100%.

For me that's going to mean when I can type half-way competently again (and, of course, when I have hair again!--no way am I leaving this house without hair!). The intellectual skills seem to be fine; my memory is intact (thank God--can you imagine?). It's the motor skills that are at issue for me now. Typing, meanwhile, is probably the skill I have relied on most as a teacher and writer. I can't do anything without it. I'm not nearly as good as I was--I've lost too much muscle control for that. I'm more of a hunt-and-peck type now.

But I'm working on it; I work on it every day. I'll get it back at some point, I'm sure; everything seems to be coming back, albeit much more slowly than I'd hoped.

But I've got lots of time.

updates

So we're all the way up to July now; I'm finally up and about (sort of), and.....it's gloomy and overcast! What gives? It hardly seems fair to lose six months of your life to a glioma and then to lose even more of it to this cold and gloom. I'm ready for summer to start already.

Mustn't complain, however. It's heavenly to be able to walk (however clumsily) and to sort my own needs. I guess it's a case of the more you can do, the more you want to do. And of course not sleeping so much means I have more time to plot trouble.

Fortunately I've still got lots of books and magazines here to keep me busy, if not entirely intellectually engaged. But even so, I'm just be so ready to be done with this.

And what about nose jobs?

One of the things I keep noticing in my post-necrotic state is my propensity to misread a headline and think I'm going to read a story about something entirely different from what from it's actually about.

Example: I just read the headline "What About Those Jobs?" But my necrotic brain saw "What about Nose Jobs?" instead, which is, I think you'll agree, a very different thing altogether.

However, I'm going to hold that my headline is much more interesting than the Weekly Standard's, which disappointed me in the end, and mine probably poses just as relevant a question, so therefore I win.

there's all sorts of stuff clogging up my brain

The only thing worse than having a brain tumor is having a brain tumor and a cold at the me time. Geez--talk about adding insult to injury! Here I am, barely able to walk in normal fashion, unable to feel my right leg at all, and on top of it all I'm dripping snot and rubbing my nose raw.

I feel thoroughly sorry for myself.

At least I have hair again. Mostly.

Sniff.

wolves of joy

A prominent metaphor in the graduation speech delivered by the principal of my daughter's elementary school today had to do with wolves. According to my daughter's principal (who claimed this was an old Cherokee story, though I have my doubts about that part as she pretty much claims everything is an old Cherokee story), we each have two wolves in us: a wolf of pain and a wolf of joy. The wolf of pain is angry, jealous, and greedy, and full of regret and sorrow.

And the wolf of joy isn't, obviously! 'Cause it's way, way better to be a wolf of joy than a wolf of pain.

Duh. WELL okay....(she strains her memory, despite the pain it causes her necrotic brain) the wolf of (what was it....joy?) feeds on joy, love, kindness, and some other stuff we can't remember right now, whereas the wolf of pain, you know, pretty much DOESN'T. And therein lies the rub, but of course that's a quote from a different era, a different genre, and blah blah.

Anyway, I can't help but notice that call them what you like, these are Dante's wolves, the ones from The Inferno, although of course Dante treated them rather more poetically than my daughter's principal. Dante's wolves are the BEST.

As for my dad, he says he's going to nurture his inner wolf with wolf kibble.

And the worst, most poorly constructed sentence of the day award goes to:

THE RANCHO COAST NEWS!

"For many San Diego high school seniors, they will graduate either this week or next."

http://sdranchcoastnews.com/rsf_pages/rsf_feature

Jesus! Who graduates these people!? And don't they pay editors to catch these things?

It's 11:15 am right now. Let's see how long it takes them to fix it!