I look like Rodney King

First, can you believe that Rodney King died?!? No one had heard a peep from that man since his 1991 beating and LA riots for years. Then he comes out with a book this spring?? THEN he ends up dead at the bottom of his swimming pool?? Weird.

Ok, so I don't look like Rodney. That's being a little dramatic. (Can you imagine? Moi? Dramatic?) But I'm seriously bruised. Everywhere. If you look at me to harshly, it leaves a bruise. If a fly lands on my leg, when he flies away ... it's purple. We have serious problems here!

Now, I'm sure there is a medical answer for this. Like my damn platelets are low and that ... blah blah blah. Or I'm on that blood thinner and that ... blah blah blah. All I know, is you could play connect the dots with the purple spots I'm rocking right now. Thankfully, I've been documenting them for your viewing pleasure. If you're traumatized by these photos, I understand and I apologize.

This one is from a wiffle ball. A fucking wiffle ball! The kids were playing on the beach. I was covering 3rd. Line drive straight to my leg. Whammo! Purple. (Plus I messed up the play so badly, the kid ran all the way home!) But wait, it gets better ...

This is from a ping pong ball. My leg looks like a tree trunk, I know. It's pasty white because I can't go in the sun and it's still flabby - despite cancer!! (If you can't drop a couple lbs during cancer there is no justice in this world!) My nephews are like Ping Pong champions. Susan Sarandon better watch out. If I put the Cooke boys on the circuit, they'll take down her players any time! So with three of them, I thought I would jump in as the 4th player at Marcia's Basement Table Tennis Lounge. It was good until I took a small plastic ball to the thigh. Really? A ping pong ball bruise?

You can almost see my crack in this one, but I wanted to give you just an idea of what the rest of my ass looks like. This splotch is because I walked into a banister but it has friends a little lower down. Both cheeks are covered with bruises from all the shots in my butt. Chris and Kristin have been having a grand old time with my tookus. The bruises there are varying shades of purple, yellow and green. At least we can tell which cheek we used last by the color palette.

And finally, this doosey. Frankie Brancaccio used to sing "She's got legs!" when I walked in the room. Now he would sing, "She's got some shit on her legs ... kinda looks like mold." This is simply from being a klutz. But when I knocked my knee it sent a zinger ... like with your funny bone when it zings down your arm. Except this shot down my leg. Can't be good. But if I want to remember exactly where to hit to make that happen, God left me a small indication. Thanks for that.

How can you be sad when you look at these faces?

I'm really tired of having cancer. Really tired. But there are some things in life that make me very happy. My niece and nephew, Hailey and William are two of them.    

If you will indulge me, you can check out this fun photo shoot we had at the beach last week.

The photographer, Stacey Fitzpatrick, lives and works in Lancaster. I've been admiring her photos for years. She also goes to Ocean City, NJ during the summer and met us there to take photos of the kids.

They are amazing. When I think Cancer Sucks, I then try to think The Kids Are Great! And these photos make me smile. The kids are so darn cute! And my husband isn't bad either! :-)

Go to:
-www.staceyfitzpatrick.com
-Click on the left box "Babies, Kids, Families and Beach"
-It will open up a new window, look to the bottom right.
-Click on "Proofing"
-Put in the passwork: cooke (all lowercase) and hit submit.
-Turn your speakers up, there is great music to go along with the slideshow.

Thanks for letting me show them off! Enjoy!!

Now I'm Getting Bitchy

It's only because we're nearly done that I can cop an attitude. Last week was supposed to be the Cooke Cousin Reunion. We took a weeks vacation time planning to spend it in Aspen with 20 other Cooke/Murrays. Fly fishing, white water rafting, hiking ... all the stuff it's just too cold to do when you hit Aspen in the winter. Would have been great. But when the ring leader comes down with a bad bout of cancer, the plans go to shit. I cancel more vacations than I go on. And that's saying something, because I go on a lot of vacations.

So to salvage the week I made my husband take off, we hit the beach. Let's be honest: not a bad alternative. And we were able to get the Jorgensen Girls to stop by the beach for a bit, so that's an added bonus. But of course, the cancer gods deem chemo necessary. So we drive back to Lancaster, sit for 7 hours for the poison, sleep half of the next day, then try to resume the vacation. I was like a walking zombie on the beach. If you think hauling a cooler, beach chairs, the towels, sunscreen and an umbrella to keep me from burning up like a vampire in daylight is hard on a normal day ... try it after 7 hours of chemo. (I understand I'm complaining about being on the beach. But I believe my current situation allows a modicum of complaining.)

Fast forward to this week. Chemo was scheduled for Tuesday because of the July 4th holiday. Go for bloodwork. Guess what? No chemo. Too sick. Platelets are 20. My nose bleeds if there is a strong wind. Fuckers. Would have been nice to skip last week and go this week. But like all things cancer: YOU HAVE NO CONTROL. Even six months into this, that still seems to bother me. Won't it be a shame if I learn nothing from this illness?

Thanks to the low numbers, my mouth has exploded in sores. The people who don't know I'm going through chemo must think I have Herpes, Hep B and C and the HIV - that's how shitty my mouth looks. No, no, people; I wasn't making out with a homeless IV drug user. I just have cancer and this is how my body responds.

See ... I said I was getting bitchy. I'll go now and find my happy pills and take like 86 of them.