Great news—the CT scan was vedy, vedy good! Major shrinkage, George Costanza would be proud. Start another four week cycle on Monday.

Check out this awesome video Duval Ditty about Jacksonville.

Check out my latest items on eBay: Marc Jacobs black patent shoulder bag, reserve is $200.



Louboutin gold platform espadrilles, which I lurrrve, but are 4.5 inches, ensuring that I will trip in them.


Luscious Lucius and the glorious sunsets. He loves the balcony. He also now has his own Facebook page! Add him, ruff ruff.










Yikes, you can see my 'nips' in this tank. Whatever.

So, in Cancer news. My veins are as bad as those of the Heroin addicts you see on Intervention. As of Thursday, when I was scheduled to have my CT scan, not a ONE in my right arm was useable. We can't use the left arm because of the 11 lymph nodes that were removed. In short, my veins are FUCKED. So, I put off the CT scan hoping that the veins would recover somewhat in a week. I had the head nurse, Michael, an awesome gay I'm friends with, try to shoot me up last Thurs before the scheduled CT. When he tried to go into the vein we used for Tuesday's chemo, this is what happened:

And it looks even worse now. At this rate, should I get more chemo, I may be looking at another port. That bites my asshole, as the tissue that surrounded the previous port isn't even fully recovered. My life sucks, no? Having a port is the creepiest feeling in the world.

I'm going to pop in to the chemo ward tomorrow to see if Michael can find a vein. If not, well, CT gets postponed another week.

Lucius Jackson!

Meet Lucius, who came my way via Facebook connections, Betsy, Lou Lou and Wally. I think they sent him to me from doggie heaven. Seriously. He's a mostly-deaf, three-year-old Havanese. His first mommy rescued him and unselfishly brought him to me. He's a joy and even though it's soon, it just felt so right.

My final chemo of this cycle is tomorrow. I'm pretty fucking tired of this shit y'all. Physically, mentally and emotionally. My hair's thinning. My white counts are shot. I just need a break. I have a CT on Thursday; Friday we get the results.

There are three possible results. One: Chemo is still working, Cancer is shrinking. Two: Chemo has plateaued and the Cancer is stable—no worse, no better. Three: Chemo is not working.

Schwartz feels scenario three is very unlikely—no jinx—however, the first two outcomes are problematic as well. Good problems, but still.

Scenario one, which I'm hoping for, means more chemo. I want the shit Cancer to have remissed even further, but like I said, my body needs a break. A real break. My veins are shot. My teeth are horrible. My eyelashes are at half-mast and I'm really depressed. The L.A. vacay was supposed to be that break, instead I found out Wally was at death's door and spent my last day there gorging on baked goods from Whole Foods and the marijuana dispensary. I need a restorative break. A beach, cocktails, rest and relaxation.

Scenario two, results are stable. This is the most difficult outcome to interpret, Schwartz says. In this event, we must make the decision either to continue chemo—hey, it can't hurt!—or stop chemo and transition to Avastin only. Mom is coming in Thursday to endure the horrific, agonizing 24-hour wait between the scan and seeing Schwartz Friday. Though I'm pretty much off the Benzos, the Xanax will be making an appearance come Thursday.

Scenario three: Let's not even go there. I'm going to bury myself in writing, editing, eBaying and adjusting Lucius this week.