I have been accused of being steadfastly optimistic in the face of certain disaster. We are the way we are. Chemo really does hit each person differently. Some of it is the physical body's reaction; some of it is the person's emotional attitude. The trickiest part for the bystanders is knowing what the patient needs from us.

ita, all the strength in the world for your and yours.

I'm a worst-case projector, too. Defensive pessimism is a good way to put it. If *I* expect the worst and plan how to deal with it, anything better is a pleasant surprise, and a piece of cake to deal with.

But giving factual information is always better--that way the person affected can process it whatever way is best for them. Your mom sounds like a person who deals best with facts and plans, not worst-case prep. I'm sure she's surrounded by a sea of caring people and good wishes. I wish you could be there for her in person, ita. But your caring contact will stil be a source of strength for her.

And your contact with sister and father may do some real good, too.

ita, it may be a good time to inquire if you can get paid/unpaid FML from work. Back at my Houghton job, a coworker was out for two months to see his mom through the worst stretch of her cancer. At least that way you'd have A Plan.

Ginger, you are so wise. This is so important to remember:

I think it's realistic to say: Chemo hits some people harder than others. If you have a lot of trouble, we can make adjustments that may make it better. Be sure to tell me about any side effects you have, because there may be drugs that can help you cope with them...I have really seen that people who are convinced that chemo is going to be horrible are more likely to have horrible experiences. In some cases, this has been because, since the person was convinced she was supposed to feel horrible, she didn't tell the doctor what was going on or ask for different drugs.

Also, this just made me chortle:

Few people believe in positive thinking less than I do. In general, my theory is "Be grumpy. You have cancer. It sucks."

I'm sorry, ita. Hang in there. We're thinking about your mom. Ginger, I'm glad to know chemo has gotten better for some people.

Best email of the year:

MrChuckD is now following you on twitter.

I'm glad to know chemo has gotten better for some people.

They're still evil chemicals, and I wish we could move beyond that, but there have been big strides in the way they administer chemo. The dosages are lower in some cases and they load up the infusion with anti-nausea drugs.

And Benedryl, at least in my case. My body never did get used to the Taxotere (sp?) but the Bendryl kept it under control.

Benadryl's a fucking wonder drug. I will be having 50mg of it in 12 hours. Not a moment soon enough. And it will stop me wanting to run away. It's probably no surprise that my head is pounding relentlessly.

They had a hard time finding an IV anti-nausea drug that worked on my mother. I hope they get better, quickly.

Okay. Have a topic change. With a singularly huge letdown. You know what comes to your hopeful mind when you read the below:

"I had to call a wardrobe person in, 'Something is wrong with my thong, you guys. I think we are gonna have to figure this out,’ and they're like, 'Yeah, your legs are in the wrong holes,'" he [Bomer] said (video below).

No, it's not the right video. But it's still charming enough.

Benadryl is not a good thing for me. I have an atypical reaction to it and it makes me feel like my skin is crawling. Really not a good reaction at all. I'd had the reaction mildly once before with the Benadryl and didn't really think anything of it, but last year when I was hospitalized it happened again and it was not a good night.