Early August 2016– With the possibility/probability (according to my internist) of an ovarian cancer diagnosis, my entire world is suddenly colored by cancer. The CT scans are pointing to it, but I have an appointment with a highly recommended (who’s not “highly recommended” these days?)  oncological gynecological surgeon in ten days. Can this BE? Radio spots for funeral arrangements and planning ahead for loved ones now have a new immediacy. My biggest concern is Kenny, whose own diabetes-related health issues require 24/7 monitoring. I actually help – by just being there if nothing else.  (As an aside, when he read this, his reaction was, “Help? How do you ‘help’ ?” But that’s another story.) What will he do without me? That’s really my only concern. Other than my immediate family, I have very few other family members that I’m fond of, but a zillion good friends. They will surely miss me – the one who’s the most fun in the crowd, if I do say so. Don’t worry, they’ve heard me say this with tongue in cheek, of course.

Seeing Woody Allen’s latest film, “Café Society” this afternoon was a great escape, but did I really have to hear the father’s line, “I’ll accept death, but under protest.” His wife, a hilarious Jewish mother, played by Jeannie Berlin responds, “Protest to who?” The movie was funny and as the credits rolled, I heard someone in back of me say, “Woody Allen gets better with age.” I watched the credits, but this time not for their artistic value, but to escape going back outside to face the real world. I never expected a nightmare to be real.

Car ride home after the movie: Was it really necessary to hear Seals and Crofts singing, “We May Never Pass This Way Again”? Gad! And then the “Midnight Cowboy” theme song with “I gotta keep going where the sun keeps shining/Through the pouring rain.” I strongly suspect I have a battle ahead- my first real battle in a very happy life.

For the past two days, when I see “Buy 2, get the second 50% off,” I have not gone for it. Yesterday it was Sensodyne toothpaste and today, Fiber One cereal. I did find a heads up shiny penny in the parking lot of Rite Aid. If only…

Thursday tennis game: Played hard in hazy, hot and humid weather for 90 minutes with the usual crew. Went to a tie break and won it at 10-8 with Sylvia (aka Sylrena as in Williams) as my partner. Felt great! Tennis, golf and running are so life affirming. “Life-affirming?” Since when do I even use phrases like that? On the down side, here I am, seeing all of the friends in my life and holding in this secret for the past two days. And I will spend tomorrow morning with Joan on the golf course.

August 12, 2016– Due to the extreme heat, golf was cancelled today, but I did meet Joan and Paula to swim at Joan’s East Hills pool. Oh boy, two more friends with whom I will have to eventually share my plight. But it was a fun day. Can’t let this get to me. We swam (I did 6 laps in the designated lanes), schmoozed and had lunch at the pool. I had also run on the dread mill this a.m. since I didn’t want to venture outdoors in the soupy, 90 degree early morning. Gotta keep up the exercise. Then Joan invited  us back to her house to watch the final two episodes  of  “Grace and Frankie” because she said they were really hilarious. Wait till you hear the subject matter: Estelle Parsons appears in the next to last episode as an aging California hippie whose “cancer has come back” and she has decided to end her life the very night she throws  a big party at and Grace and Frankie’s beach house. This is a bad joke. Did I really want to see this? On second thought, if I walked out, what would have been my excuse? I really didn’t want to raise any suspicion, so I mulled it over in my head and decided that gallows humor is okay. After all, I have an unfinished manuscript entitled, “Wake Me When Shiva’s Over.” Keep it light.

In the past three days, I saw my mother, spoke to Emily who’s vacationing in Mexico, called Andy and spent time with three separate groups of friends. NO ONE was told anything. I’m sincerely hoping I won’t have to. On Wednesday, after I had my blood test, I met Sharon and Ritta for lunch at the Bethpage Golf Course. I hit 80 balls at the driving range just prior to lunch. On Thursday I played doubles with Sylvia, Linda and Sharon C. More silence. And today, Paula and Joan. As of today, only Kenny, Diane and Glenn know anything and they have been sworn to secrecy.

One week later – Everyone who is anyone knows now that my surgery is scheduled for Monday, August 29 –  all but Bonnie, Risa and Barb Philleo. Gotta find a way to talk to them this weekend. Here is what I sent to the members of  my book club. Sande already knew because I spent Monday walking the Long Beach boardwalk with her.

Dear Bookies,
 If you notice that I am not at Mim’s on the 30th, I do have an excuse. (That black and blue yellow fin that I always order will have to wait.)
On Monday, 8/29, I am scheduled to have a radical hysterectomy to remove tumors in the ovarian area and a nodule on my right kidney. I will be in very good hands with the head of oncological gynecology at North Shore LIJ (too many ologies and ectomies for my taste, but what can I do?)
I will be hospitalized for about 4 days (NS/LIJ on Lakeville Road.) In the meantime, between freaking out and carrying on my fun-filled life, I’m doing okay. I played tennis this morning, have another game tomorrow and a golf game on Friday. On Sat. we will be celebrating my Mom’s and her twin sister’s 95th birthday! Sunday, golf with Kenny.
I’m busy all day and see lots of people. I have lots of support from friends and I include you in that group. Feel free to call me if you want. I’m very upbeat, but I do take 1/2 Xanax every night before bed.
Sorry I had to write this, but calling to announce the news is just not me.
Love, Melinda

Today I am seeing Marie D. and Ellen for golf. I need to leave shortly, but I have to tell you what Kenny called to tell me when he was on his way to work this morning: “Hit ’em hard, hit ’em long, hit ’em straight.” At first I thought he was referring to tennis, but no, how could he have been?

I played great (for me) with a “nothing to lose” mentality. Why stress over golf (which is what I’ve done for the past 6 years –  EVERY time I’ve played.) I seriously felt good about my game and had many really nice shots.

Prior to my surgery, I made a true confession to Kenny. For four years I’ve held it in. I lost his mother’s diamond wedding band – the one I wore everyday and constantly received compliments on. It was set in yellow gold and really was quietly striking. In case I didn’t make it through the surgery  I didn’t want him to go through my jewelry box only to find a cheap piece  of crap that I replaced  it with. God forbid he’d go to sell it and find out  “his mother’s” wedding ring was fake!  So I told him I lost it in the parking lot of the beach in East Hampton. At this point I wasn’t stressing over anything material and I hoped he wouldn’t be too upset. It passed. Whew! I am sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I was careless on that day four years ago.

My August 29th surgery went according to plan. Hours later I found myself in a private room at a very fancy shmancy hotel-like hospital. I stayed there for 3 days. In the meantime, Kenny kept in touch with the people in my life via email blasts. Here is a beautiful one he wrote:

 Ok, first the answer. Yes, she had ovarian cancer. Now the details. This morning Melinda, Emily (Melinda’s sister) and I met with Dr. Menzin, Melinda’s gynecological oncologist to explain to us the results of her pathology reports and to check up on her healing. He is also the one who performed her surgery. She’s healing great. The surgical wound is terrific. She’s been walking for upwards of 45 minutes and doing some hills. And she is feeling great. Her healthy eating and physical activities clearly have gone a long way for her to be healing the way she is. Dr. Menzin removed both ovaries, the uterus and several growths in the abdominal area. The pathology report was exactly what he expected, no surprises. The biopsies of the lymph nodes were negative, which was great news. When I asked if her cancer was caught early, he said no. Early would have been a tumor in only one ovary, which wasn’t the case. We did not talk or ask about what the stage was. “Stage” was not in his vocabulary. We know this is serious stuff.

The next step is to see a medical oncologist and start chemo therapy, probably at the Monter Cancer Center, which is part of the LIJ network, and is very well-rated. When asked, the receptionist at Dr. Menzin’s office said the two doctors that were recommended to us at Monter would be the doctors she would send her own family members to. We’re calling Monter today to set up an appointment, for probably within the next 2 weeks or so.

Melinda is under no illusions as to what she had, and she has the strength and attitude needed to work through the next phase of treatment. As she said, “I’ll do whatever the f*** I have to do.” And those of us who know her well, know that she will. So in keeping with her desire to “write” her own story on this, again, she is not interested in hearing about someone’s neighbor’s third cousin and their experience. She will blaze her own path. She’s strong, positive, and ready to fight. Whatever they tell her to do, she’ll do. She may also have a French fry or two.

-This message has been approved by Melinda

Fast forward to September 29, 2016. Four weeks post-surgery. I will spare the details but yes, it certainly was ovarian cancer. Kenny covered the hospital experience deftly in email blasts to my nearest and dearest. And now when I get up tomorrow morning I will be headed to the Monter Cancer Center in Lake Success for my first 3-5 hour session of chemotherapy. The oncologist that I chose for this reviewed the pathology with us last Thursday. She said twice (once then and  once  over the phone) that there will be a good outcome. It is Stage 2 as opposed to an advanced cancer but a slight technicality really makes it Stage 3, according to Dr. Menzin. This I will explain because it initially freaked me out.  I should be inured already – bad news and  more bad news, but always with lots of hope for recovery. I do know I’ve recovered very well (and continue to do so) from the August 29 surgery. Lots of unfit people tell me how my fitness level has helped me. I’ll go with that. When the oncologist at Monter said I have Stage 2, we mentioned that my surgeon said the cancer was not caught early. We left it at that. On Monday, she called me to say that she met with my surgeon and discussed this. The fact that there were some cancer cells removed from outside the pelvis near the abdomen makes it Stage 3, but she said it’s just a technicality. “Your outcome is still very good.”

Friends have stepped up like there’s no tomorrow. I came home from the hospital on Thursday morning, Sept 1st  and have had non-stop company since Sept. 3rd (mostly 2 at a time according to my plan.) I just find that expending energy with more than two people at a time wears me out. Outpourings of generosity and love have boosted me up for an entire month. Yesterday Eileen Hudon gave me a sterling silver bracelet with “Strength” engraved on it. It will be on my wrist tomorrow. The cards, meals, food, visits, homemade Linzer tarts, my favorite sandwiches and wraps – OMG! It sounds trite, but it’s not: I feel the love.  But by far, the one who has been with me every step has been Kenny, my love. I just hope he’s not getting too run down – and I do remind him daily. I’m also there for him with his recent transition to the insulin pump. He keeps telling me we’re here for each other.

This is the email I put out on the day of my first chemotherapy session: It’s called “Piece o’ Cake.”

To my nearest and dearest,
     I called this “a Piece o’ Cake” because I was told today that I need to put on a few pounds. So, let me eat cake!
     Waiting to be called into the inner sanctum for my first chemotherapy treatment, I couldn’t help but notice the gray crewcut brigade of patients milling around. That won’t be me, babe, because I’m already “on it” with a natural looking wig about to be ordered, possibly as early as tomorrow. With a pair of sunglasses added to the mix, you will be permitted to gasp, “Is that Melinda Ehrlich behind those Foster Grants?”
     Today’s session was scheduled to last from 3-5 hours, but we were waiting for our car to return home in just under 4. That even included lots of detailed explanations every step of the way, including a visit from a nutritionist. So I now know that the longest sessions will be 4 hours every third week and the others, just over an hour.
     Regarding the nutritionist: Kenny and I could have been the nutritionist with all of the knowledge we’ve gleaned from his diabetes regimens. However, not to minimize her knowledge and oncology experience, she did recommend that I eat more broccoli, spinach, peanuts, walnuts, almonds and oatmeal. I have always shied away from oatmeal, but I know it’s good and fresh berries can be added to it so it’s not so bland. I’ve never been into sweeteners and I was reminded that that’s a good thing. Artificial sweeteners are definitely bad. I’ve been eating right for years (BFD – look where it got me.)  Green tea is out because it interacts with one of the chemo meds that will be dripping into me every week. I love black teas anyway. Whatever they suggest, I will comply with. It reminds me of something my beloved late father-in-law once looked at me and said,
“Melinda, if they told you pigeon shit was good for you, you’d eat it.” He was right.
     Finally, I need to use an alcohol-free toothpaste. Colgate and Crest make one, so it’s farewell to Sensodyne with whitener. I hope my smiles remain bright. As of today, I’m smiling an everlasting smile (a la The Bee Gees.)
Love to all of you.
   P.S. Please don’t forget, Nothing on Facebook.

Here is the 2nd installment of my chemo therapy session; A Piece o’ Pancake

To my fabulous friends and family,
      Accompanied by my dear friend Sande, my two and a half hour visit today could not have been smoother. This time the IV was placed in my left hand, so Sande was asked to forge my signature on the paperwork. No problema.
     It was characteristically cold in the center so I was given a warm blanket and I got one for Sande as well. And the drip goes on… In between visits from various personnel (social worker, my doctor’s nurse practitioner and the delivery from the pharmacy), Sande showed me stunning photos from her recent trip to Norway.
     I asked the social worker if she thought meditation might be used to help me sleep better. I really do not want to take Xanax or anything else if I can help it. I had to laugh (to myself, of course) when she recommended coming to a Gentle Chair Yoga session which incorporates meditation. Visualizing “chair yoga” got to me, but I will definitely explore meditation. The last time I meditated was in 1971 when my three college housemates and I were initiated into Mahararishi Mahesh Yogi’s Transcendental Meditation. We volunteered to have a guru stay at our house so we could waive the initiation fee. All of the students at the college were asked to bring the requisite flower and handkerchief for the initiation ceremony and they were, in turn, assigned a mantra. It was a real scene and we loved every minute of it. We had been instructed by the guru to never, ever disclose our mantras to anyone, but somehow, thirty years later we all discovered we had the same mantra. Oops. Glad we didn’t pay.
     This morning our friends Steve and Abbie also suggested preparing a banana tea with cinnamon that should act as a soporifc. Stay tuned. The water’s boiling as I type.
     Once I was unhooked and released today, Sande and I went out for lunch. I had a short stack of pancakes with real maple syrup. Yum. She then drove me home on this gorgeous afternoon and we decided to go for a walk at the beach in Oyster Bay. It was a full day but that’s what evening’s rests are for.
Love to all of you and again, thank you for your good wishes.

This is my email entitled “Chemo Session 3: Do You Want Fries With That?”

To My Loving Friends and Family,
     The day began with the good news that Bob Dylan, my absolute favorite singer-songwriter and poet, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature! To the naysayers who claim he sounds like a an alley cat in heat, I urge you to try analyzing his visionary poetry. Who can deny brilliant lyrics such as these:
“Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.”
     Now to segue into session 3 of chemotherapy. Surreal, eh?
My good friend Ritta (a tennis and golf buddy too) accompanied me today. She went to park the car while I checked in.
     Today’s session at the Monter Center began with a visit with my oncologist. She examined me and is very pleased with my progress. Ritta sat with me for the infusion which took just over an hour. She entertained me with conversation and a book called, A Girl’s On Course Survival Guide to Golf. Once I was unhooked from the IV, Ritta drove us towards home and we stopped for lunch. Are you ready for today’s menu? Turkey cheeseburger sans bun for me, a spinach mushroom omelette for Ritta and we shared a small side of French fries! My maiden voyage in the world of fries – and I loved them.
Gimme a Head With Hair
     This past week I’ve had expert advice from my hairstylist/friend Joan in my quest for the perfect wig. We had lots of laughs and it could have been made into a script entitled “Looking for Mrs. Goodwig.” We wound up working with a rather eccentric Argentinian wiggest {sic} in her 70s. I made three visits to her studio before making my purchase. She trimmed it in the front and added, “If you wear it and you feel you need to have it thinned out, come back any time.” No problema. Gracias. I said, “How ’bout I make an appointment once it grows a little?”
Thanks again for all of your prayers and good wishes.
 Love, Melinda

E-mail sent out after Chemo Session 4:

Dear Friends and family,
     In keeping with the season, the leaves are falling and so is my hair. It’s par for the course, I am told (although I have never come close to parring a golf course. I have, however, hit many a tennis ball that was out by a hair.)
     So with a nod to Stevie W., here’s my little ditty I’m calling “The Wig Song”:
For good times and bad times
I’ll be on your head forever more
That’s what wigs are for…
     Kenny accompanied me to today’s double whammy infusion session, meaning that I had two separate drugs dripping into me, one following the other. My blood count was very good, so we went ahead with the treatment. (That’s the protocol – check blood first and if all is groovy, the show goes on.) It took 3 1/2 hours, all in. I was told from the get go that I could experience fatigue, but that hasn’t happened yet in the 4 weeks of this madness. We shall see what this week has in store. Today was routine, but I did have a reflexology session thrown in. A combo of the reflexology and the Benadryl that was added to the drip made me drowsy and I dozed for the last part of the infusion. Kenny was sitting by my side but I wasn’t very stimulating company. (Actually I’m sure he was happy to have a little peace and quiet for awhile. It’s like when Ellen tells me I need duct tape on my mouth when I play golf.) We went out to lunch and without going into my menu this week, suffice it to say maple syrup was involved. They did not weigh me this week. I could always weigh myself on my regulation Detecto scale, but I like to see their reading at the center.
     I am back to tennis – played friendly doubles games twice this week and I will return to two leagues next week. Doubles is very doable. It’s social and you’re not hitting every shot. Last week I hit some singles with my friend Barbara, but I felt as if singles was too demanding right now. Haven’t picked up a golf club since August 28, but the driving range is calling out to me.
     Just one comment on last night’s entertainment. It was a post-debate line from a talking head on CNN.  He said something to this effect: “Watching the debate felt like it was 11:30 on a Saturday night and I was watching Alec Baldwin on SNL.”
Once again, thank you for your thoughts, prayers and friendship.

October 24, 2016: Shaven. I know it’s fall, but it was too much work “raking” up the falling hair, so after six days… Hi Joan.  I actually had her give me a Pixie haircut two days prior, but the long and short of it is hair, hair, everywhere. So I got a buzz cut. Don’t ask how it looks because I haven’t had the guts to look – seriously. I wear my wig when I’m out and one of three head coverings generously sent to me by Debbie Bushman when I’m at home.

October 26, 2016: Who am I kidding? I got up the nerve to peek at my bald head and I look like the picture I have of Diane and Glenn’s twin granddaughters, Kayla and Sasha before they grew hair. We could be triplets. Honestly, though, bald has never been my cup of tea- on anyone but Yul Brynner so I cover my head- even to sleep.

October 27, 2016: Chemo Update # 5 Email- Infusion Not Intrusion *

My dear friends and family,
    (*attributed to Nancy G who used this in an email to me.)
Though it was a short infusion day, this a long email, so start reading. The blood work was a-ok, so the show went on. And what a show it was (just kidding.) This week I was accompanied my friend Barbara C. who is a neighbor and tennis buddy.
    I was promptly hooked up to the IV, got my hot blanket to cover me and let the games begin – literally. Barbara had read a previous email in which I described how Ritta brought a funny golf book to “entertain” me. The pressure was now on for Barbara to figure out how she would help me to pass the time. She brought a Scrabble game with a Lazy Susan-like rotating board. Perfect. It was a fine diversion, but we kept get getting interrupted by various medical personnel that I had requested earlier. They walked in to check on me and answer my questions. First, in walked the nutritionist and all of my concerns were addressed… Back to Scrabble. Next, in walked the reflexologist who asked if she could turn down the lights. No problema. After all, it’s a relaxation therapy. She was terrific for the second week in a row… Back to Scrabble. Next, in walked the social worker. I had met her two weeks ago and at that time she had only one leg and wore a dress! Brave. Today she had two legs and wore slacks. She is really lovely and runs support groups at the Center. Kenny and I plan to attend one in November. And  finally, in walked the lady with the alligator purse…Back to Scrabble.
Scrabble Interruptus
    We were doing really well when suddenly Barbara rotated the board and toppled it, scattering the pieces all over the floor. It was near the end of my infusion anyway, so we packed in the game.
    After inquiring as to whether or not I can have an occasional drink, each of the people who stopped in told me I’d have to ask my oncologist. I put in a call to her and just as I arrived home, a member  of her team called me to say, “I don’t know why not – but just an occasional drink. Not every day.” I’ll take it! Tired of being a teetotaler for the past five weeks, I will indulge in either a wine or a vodka on Saturday night.
    I know some of you are interested in today’s post-chemo lunch menu. We went to Bagel Boss and had a delicious bagel with smoked salmon spread.
Back to the Beloved Tennis Bubble
    I’m thrilled to report that I’ve returned to tennis – doubles only for now. Played two sets on Monday and a match on Wednesday. I’m looking forward to seeing some of you at the Friday league.
Hairless in East Norwich
    Being the lump of vanity that I am, I don my wig in public at all times. In the house I wear one of two head coverings and when I looked in the mirror last night, I saw Dopey from the Seven Dwarves.
Chemo Update #6: Wine-Boggling

 My dear friends and family,

    Let me begin by apologizing to my hairstylist friend Joan, who says she was “highly offended” when she read last week that my “hair” never looked this good.
    But truth be told, I have been getting compliments all week. On Halloween, my new next door neighbor escorted her kids trick or treating and when she saw me on the driveway, she exclaimed, “Wow, you look great. Fall must really agree with you.” I thanked her without sharing anything. She should only know this really is a costume. Then the next day, the cashier at Rite Aid said, “Oh, your hair looks so nice. Did you get it cut?” And, of course, my tennis friends…
    Kenny drove me over to the center this morning so that he could sit in on the appointment I had with my doctor prior to the infusion. All is groovy. I gained two pounds (although I hate that they insist on weighing me with shoes on, jewelry and clothes. My personal routine is to go on the scale first thing in the morning, naked without even a necklace on – before I even brush my teeth so the rinsing water isn’t even in my system. I know I’m nuts.) But hey, they know what they’re doing and they allow two pounds for the paraphernalia.
    After complimenting me on my hair (sorry ad nauseum, Joan) the oncologist said, “You’re doing fine. Your readings are good. Eat what you want.” That was after I had some questions about sugar intake. I really don’t overdo sugar, but I did have some concerns. Kit Kats, here I come! (I lost my loving feeling for dark chocolate, the “healthy” choice- ha ha ha.) On the way out of the wing where my doctor’s appointment was located, I spotted a witch’s cauldron of candy and I grabbed a Kit Kat. I even broke my rule of not eating chocolate before noon.
    After the appointment, it was hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work Kenny goes…Thank you, honey, for being there.
    Changing of the guard: Accompanying me to today’s session of the wide, wide wonderful world of chemo was my good friend Sharon C. (also a golf and tennis buddy.) She took her cue from previous emails to find some means to entertain me, and so she brought Boggle, Eno and a deck of cards. I chose Boggle since I used to play it. Of course, just as we were in the middle of the third round, in walks my new BFF, the reflexologist. This was her third consecutive weekly visit. Sharon quipped that she could use a pedicure but was told, “No, that’s not a service I offer.” Did that really merit a response? I don’t think so.
    So, we broke for reflexology (it sounds like a bad bumper sticker: “I brake for reflexology.”) and I groggily resumed it later.
    Although Boggle’s generally a quiet game, it gets noisy when you shake up the cubes – sort of like a Martini. But as loud as Boggle was, nothing beats the guy from the cubicle across from us. He was sprawled out in a chair, snoring his head off. His wife, hooked up to an IV, was forced to wake him up, to which he complained, “Whaaaat? It’s not as if I’m in a comfortable chair!” And to think he’s her designated driver!
    After my chemo session ended, Sharon drove me home and we stopped for some tuna sandwiches. We were both hungry by 2:30.
    Last Saturday night I had a nice glass of Chianti when we went out for diner with Emily and Susan to celebrate Susan’s birthday. It was a really nice evening. The doctor said today I can drink wine and vodka with a splash of grapefruit juice – in moderation, of course.
    Another nice gesture was made last week from my friend Bobby’s twin sister Leslie. She sent me a coloring book and pencils with a great message in the card: “I hope you don’t have time to color.”
Well thankfully, I sure don’t!
Thanks again for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers.
 Love, Melinda
Chemo Update # 7- Double Dripping
My dear friends and family,
    Today’s session involved the double drip (2 bags of chemo drugs) for what is scheduled as one of my “long sessions.” Kenny drove me to the center and waited with me until Diane arrived. Diane is our friend whom we consider family – and vice versa. It took her 2 1/2 hours to drive down to meet us. (Now that’s a friend – or is it family?) Once she arrived, Kenny went off to work ’cause as Springsteen croons, “It’s the working, the working, the working life.” But have no fear ’cause my Loverboy is “working for the weekend.”
    Diane and I had a great visit. We talked non-stop for the three hours we were there. No need for any games as there was so much to discuss – from the election upset (%$&*) to her son Keith’s upcoming wedding to Paula, to the recent visit with her adorable kids: Corinne, Lail, and 2 year-old twins, Sasha and Kayla.
    Of course, before I was hooked up with the IV drip, my blood work had to be checked. We’ve been keeping an eye on the to-be-expected depletion of white blood cells due to the chemo drugs for past 6 weeks. Surprisingly, they are low but not as low as they were last week. Go figure. All good once again and the drip goes on…
                                Patient Observations
    While waiting to be called in for my infusion this morning, I couldn’t help but notice a woman sitting nearby who was wheezing and sighing with every breath. Poor thing. She managed to wrench a sandwich out of her satchel, making weird sounds all the way. When I got called into the inner sanctum for my infusion, guess who was in the next cubicle? I heard her; no need for a visual. A few minutes later, she wheeled by with her walker on her way to the bathroom. She said to the nurse, “I may as well say goodbye now,” to which Kenny said  to me, “Is she planning to jump in?” I cracked up.
    Diane arrived soon after. She was really impressed with the way the center was run – nice amenities and gentle, caring treatment. I got my warm blanket but no reflexology today. The reflexologist was too busy to fit me  in, but I will call ahead next week.
    On the way home we stopped at Messina Market and I’m happy to report I can eat with the best of them. My appetite is as good as ever- if not better.
                                Physical Activities
    This brings me to a favorite pastime of mine: running. Several thoughtful friends called me this past weekend to say they were thinking of me on NYC Marathon Day. I thanked them. I was thinking of me too. The only one I knew running the race this year was Sharon Chernoff’s daughter. It was her first. Go, Michelle!
    Besides walking practically every day since my August 29 surgery, I’ve been trying to get back to running. I hadn’t been ready, but look out! Walking is effortless, but running has been my life since 1985 and that is precisely the reason I want to get back to it. This sounds pathetic (to me) but, as of this week, I can run 1/4 mile without stopping. I go to the track, walk and run a little. By the end of three miles, I can run once around non-stop. If I stretch out my distance to four miles, I run another 1/4 mile lap. Now to string them together.
    Since I returned to my tennis doubles leagues two weeks ago, I’ve won 3 out of 5 matches. I play on Wednesdays and Fridays with hours of chemo sandwiched in on Thursdays. I’m just so happy to be playing and seeing my friends on the courts..
    My friend Mary S. writes in a score each week: Melinda: 40, Chemo: 0
7 treatments down with 11 weeks to go. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. They do not go unappreciated, I assure you.
Love, Melinda
     I’m finally looking forward to speaking with an ovarian cancer survivor.  She’s the ex-wife of our good friend in L.A. When he heard what was going on with me back in August, he offered to have me speak to her. We used to be very friendly, but I wasn’t ready. As you know from reading my posts, I do not do research (as per  doctors’ orders right from the start),  am not interested in statistics, and I take my prompts from my experienced medical team. I also find it painful to be told to speak to this one  or that because “she had ovarian cancer.” Well. guess what? No one’s had ovarian cancer – they’ve all had cervical or uterine. I do not want to minimize anybody’s life-changing bouts with cancer, but  since my diagnosis, I’ve had the need wanted to be able to speak to an ovarian cancer survivor and until today, I’ve been out  of luck. Someday I may be ready to talk to everyone who has a story, but certainly not at this moment amid my chemo therapy treatments.
     When our West Coast friends were still married, we partied it up with them in L.A. , Club Med and New York when they visited. Kenny and I have fond memories of her. I hear she  is looking forward to my call this weekend as well.
Chemo Update # 8: Single Infusion, Double Therapy
To my dear friends and family,
    Today my friend Ellen K accompanied me to the wide, wide world of chemotherapy. This reminds me of  “Better Living Through Chemistry,” the old advertising slogan for DuPont. Ellen is a former tennis friend who lives in my neighborhood. My neighborhood is like the Nick Bollitieri Tennis Academy – for seniors.
    Ellen and I were called in, I was ushered to my cubicle, and met the two R.N.’s  assigned to me as we awaited the results of this week’s blood work. Once it came in, I was told the Neutrophil # (white blood cell count) continues to drop, but my oncologist determined I was good to go again. Whew! I didn’t want to be all dressed up with no place to go.
    Ellen and I talked about books, book club recommendations and assorted other topics. When I was being hooked up to the IV, I noticed she was trying to meditate, but to no avail. As usual, too many interruptions.The social worker stopped in today and she remembered that Kenny and I signed up for a support group meeting next week. This is very different for me but we’ll give it a shot.
   A young man stopped into my cubicle (not sure of his title) to go over my new schedule of treatments for December and January. We went  over each date, but he was taking a very long time to figure it out. He was apologetic as he finally printed it out. While this was going on, I noticed Ellen meditating. With all the chatter, I’m surprised she was able to get a breath in edgewise, but she’s a psychotherapist and very focused. After the guy left, she did mention that he looked like he was working on his Master’s thesis for all the time he took.
  Well, finally this past weekend, the promised “fatigue” kicked in. I rested on Saturday but still went out for a 45 minute walk. Still tired on Sunday, but found some time to walk on the trail to the beach at Sagamore Hill with Kenny. The trail spills out into Cold Spring Harbor and it was beautiful. When it comes to being tired, all I can think of is Madeline Kahn in “Blazing Saddles.”
                                            I’m tired,
                                Tired of playing the game
                                    Ain’t it a crying shame
                    I’m so tired God dammit I’m exhausted.
    Tennis is tough, especially the long rallies, but with a little help from Gatorade and a PB & J sandwich at the changeovers, I’m doing fine. So far, I’ve won 4 matches and lost 3. So I’m not tired of playing the game.
    With a compromised immune system, I am advised to steer clear of crowds. That takes care of my participating in the massive Million Woman March on Washington on January 21, the day after the Inauguration. At this juncture, I’m not allowed to be at a gathering of 10 or more, so 999,999 other people is out of the question. I will still have another week of these chemo treatments at that point.
Thanks for reading and caring.
 Friday, November 18- Played another match with Marie, my doubles partner par excellence. We were on clay this week and won handily.  I took my Gatorade and PB & J regimen during the match and wasn’t tired (except during long rallies.) Afterwards I went to lunch with 3 of my singles league friends. Great camaraderie and lots to talk about. I would have had a Kirin Light since it was an Asian fusion restaurant (everything was delicious, by the way) but Mary had to return to work after lunch and that would be an issue if she drank at lunch. Next time.
Chemo Update # 9- Hold MY Hand and We’re Halfway There

My dear friends and friendly family,

Today marked chemotherapy session # 9. I would have preferred it to be love potion # 9, but hey, you can’t have everything. It is a significant milestone and as “West Side Story’s” Tony and Maria so passionately sang, “Hold my hand and we’re HALFWAY THERE

Hold my hand and I’ll take you there

Somehow, Someday, Somewhere.”

This musical is very dear to our hearts since Kenny played Tony, singing skillfully and dancing nimbly in a high school production (so I hear- I didn’t know him then) and I taught “Romeo and Juliet” followed by “West Side Story” at least 50 times. Who ever thought I’d be married to Tony? Te adoro Anton.

Today Kenny drove me to the center as he wanted to be there for the appointment with my oncologist. Although, as to be expected, I am anemic and my white cell count is very low, she was impressed with my strength and overall well-being. I told her I get fatigued but I do rest accordingly (when I’m falling on my face.) No, seriously, I am taking good care of myself. I gained a couple of pounds (with clothes on – gimme a break!) and I told her my appetite is outrageous. That’s good for the remaining 9 treatments. Numbers talk and while we were waiting for today’s blood count, we discussed options in case she decided my immune system couldn’t tolerate the single drip today.

Once the doc’s appt. ended, there to accompany me for the infusion was my good friend and tennis buddy Sylvia, aka Sylrena as in Williams. Bet you didn’t know I am known as Meltina Navratilehrlich – only on a very good day, might I add.

Finally today’s blood count came in and I was given 2 options: 1) go home and come back next week, giving the white blood cells a chance to build up or 2) have the infusion today and return on Friday for an injection of Neupogen, a common regimen for chemo patients. I was given the requisite documents on this injection and called Kenny to discuss. My decision was to get the shot. The R.N. and doc are confident that by next Thursday, the count should have increased. Lin-Manuel Miranda would be proud that “I am not throwing away my shot!”

Sylvia brought along a card game called Phase 10, taught it to me and we played it once the IV was hooked up. The time flew by and we didn’t even have a chance to finish one game. She too was impressed with the level of care at the Monter Center. The reflexologist was not on site today so she no longer qualifies as my new BFF. I haven’t seen her in 3 weeks, but then again, thankfully without any signs of neuropathy, I don’t really need her. Perhaps someday there’ll be a time for us…somewhere, someday…(all right, enough already!)

No tennis for me this week. The leagues are suspended for the holiday. Happy Thanksgiving and I send my love to all of you.


Chemo Update # 10- Detour/Recalculating

My dear friends,

    As Peter Noone sang with his band, Herman’s Hermits,
            No milk today, my love has gone away
The bottle stands forlorn, a symbol of the dawn
No milk today, it seems a common sight
But people passing by don’t know the reason why.
   Here’s “the reason why.” Well, it was bound to happen: my blood platelets are too depleted to have my treatment today. When I called Kenny to tell him, he started singing “No Milk Today.” All of the personnel I saw today (2 R.N.’s and a nutritionist) reiterated that this  “no drip today” is normal and to be expected. Hence, my new mantra: “This is normal, this is normal.” The white blood cell count improved from the last few weeks, thanks to the shot of Neupogen last Friday. Yes! If it weren’t for the platelets, it could have been biz as usual today. I’m still anemic and was advised to continue eating the super foods to fight it, which I happen to really love. Seven grain bread, tomatoes, seafood, raisins, hard-boiled eggs, spinach, spinach pie, peanut butter and nuts, particularly pistachios! What could be bad?
   Today my super, devoted sister Emily left her home on the Upper West Side of Manhattan at 7:30 a.m. She managed to beat the traffic and beat us there! She had left extra early (I told her she could arrive by 10 even though my appointment was at 9) but she’s been on the money throughout. Since Em was already there, Kenny left and it was hi ho, hi ho for him.
    I feel very well and strong, but I do get tired when walking up a flight of stairs and during a long tennis rally. Played a match yesterday and did very well. One game in which my friend Lisa was serving went to 15 deuces! Now that’s good competition. Since all of this nonsense started and I rejoined my tennis leagues, I find it necessary to routinely sit down during changeovers (after 2 games) for a hit of Gatorade and a bite of my PB & J sandwich. I was talking to Lisa and Andi, the opposing team, and I was apologetic about disrupting the rhythm of the game by sitting down. Andi looked at my partner Sherry, who was madly texting and really wasting too much time at every changeover and said, “Are you kidding? She’s on her fucking phone!” We all had a good laugh.
    My friend Ellen R. saw me yesterday and said, “Your skin is so smooth! Not a wrinkle.” I thanked her and told her what I really do on Thursdays is go for a spa treatment.
    My instructions before I left the center this morning were to listen to my body, continue doing what I’m doing, but if I feel tired, respect what my body is telling me and cut back. No problem. I get it. There is nothing I can do (barring a blood transfusion – seriously) to increase the platelet count. With a week off from the toxic drip, they should regenerate themselves.
    I am disappointed, don’t get me wrong, but Emily drove me home and we made lemonade out of a lemon. We stopped for a late breakfast and called our cousin Jackie who lives nearby. She met us to schmooze for an hour. Then it was hi ho, hi  ho for Emily, the Broadway music copyist. She hardly is a nine to fiver, so that works for her.
    So what did I learn today, boys and girls? I learned that I cannot pinpoint when this 18 week regimen will end, as it’s already extended one week. This is normal and I’m okay with it. I will restez calme and carry on.
Chemo Update # 11- 10 Down, 8 To GO
To my dear friends and family,
   It’s week # 11, but infusion # 10.
       With a nod to Sonny and Cher:
              The drip goes on. The drip goes on.
                        Drugs keep dripping
                        Silent like light rain.
                    La de da de dee, la de da de da.
    After a week’s respite from the potent chemotherapy drugs that have depleted my platelet count, it was deemed today that they not only regenerated, but they were out of the ballpark! “Great numbers,” I was told by the presiding R.N., so I have to thank not only the week off, but the super foods: the pistachios, the spinach, kale, fresh pomegranate seeds, seafood, peanut butter, hard boiled eggs, apples, 7 grain bread and a few more good eats. Man, can I eat! I’m so lucky.
    So here’s how I “rested” this week. Last Friday, December 2, I had a follow-up scan with the urologist who was part of the surgical team on August 29. Great news! The tiny nodule or tumor they saw on the right kidney is now nowhere to be seen. Apparently they made the right decision to monitor it and scan it 2-3 months post-surgery. That night we celebrated our anniversary (just the two of us) with a delicious dinner at Rialto. We made no plans on Saturday and Sunday. On Monday, I shlepped groceries into the city for my Mom and visited for a few hours. I know she appreciates the visits. Took a nice, long walk with with Ritta and Barbara C. on Tuesday morning. Rested afterward. On Wednesday (yesterday) I played a doubles match. I now have 7 wins and 3 losses. I’ll take it. In between all of these activities, I really did have down time. And of course, when I get tired walking up a flight of steps, I rest until the fatigue passes.
    Kenny drove me to the center this morning and my dear friend and former colleague Eileen met us there. Entering the premises, Ken wondered why the flags were at half staff at 9:30 a.m. We figured out they forgot to raise them after yesterday’s 75th anniversary of Pearl Harbor. Now they will probably be returned to half staff for John Glenn, whose death was announced this afternoon.
    This morning, Kenny waited with bated breath until we were told it was “a go,” at which point, it was “Auf Wiedersehen.” Somebody’s gotta work. Eileen and I talked non-stop, reminiscing and catching up. We hadn’t seen each other since September and her family is growing and thriving. We did take a break when Linda, my long, lost reflexologist showed up. Thankfully I don’t need her for neuropathy or pain, but it sure felt good.
    Eileen and I also  went through practically the entire staff at Richmond Hill, past and present, fondly reminiscing. Lasting friendships were forged at the “Hill.” It was a great place to work when we were there.
   As soon as I was discharged, we headed over to Shake Shack. Neither of us had ever been to a Shake Shack and probably will not go back. Very ordinary, unsubstantial burgers.
    I heard a TV commercial the other day that featured the song, “Keep on the sunny side/always on the sunny side” and it reminded me of how much I loved the soundtrack of  “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”  Keeping on the sunny side is what I am doing.
Thank you all for caring.
Love, Melinda
And How We Are Six – A Reprise
To My Dear Friends,
    Channeling A.A. Milne once again, but this time, only six more to go. That means we’re two thirds down. I saw my oncologist this morning and all of my numbers and markers are quite good (still lowish on the white and red blood cell counts, but not enough interrupt today’s chemo.) My doctor was pleased, so if she’s happy, I’m happy.
    Kenny stayed for the doc’s appointment and then… you know the drill: Heigh ho, heigh ho, it’s off to work he goes. Linda Z. met me at 11 and sat with me in my spacious corner cubicle today. Unfortunately, there was no view.
                Everybody’s talking at me
Can’t hear a word they’re saying
Only the echoes of my mind.
    These lyrics from “Midnight Cowboy” are quite befitting since Linda, one of my tennis buds, is also a member of my friends known as The Walkie Talkies. There are four of us and this is not an exaggeration: We have been known to all talk simultaneously, interrupting one another ad nauseum. Linda is the most mild-mannered of the lot. We often tease her, “When Linda talks, everybody listens.” But not always. But today, the conversation flowed, as did my infusion. Today’s session was a short one – a little over an hour, so we never ran of topics to discuss. At the end, when a thermometer was popped into my mouth, I thought, “How dare they interrupt my conversation.”
    I was discharged and we headed out to lunch, this time  to BurgerFi. I had the veggie burger and yes, Marie E, it was great. I felt energized (perhaps from the cocktail of pills, including a mild steroid I was given before my treatment) so Linda and I ran some errands and she delivered me to my doorstep by 3:30.
Knowing  that all of you are out there and in my corner has really boosted my spirits.
Happy Chanukah and Merry Christmas to one and all.
With love,
P.S. Though all went well for me today, it is with a heavy heart that I write this, as our very dear and very funny friend Paul is lying in the hospital in a coma which stemmed from a brain bleed on Monday. We are devastated. Michele and Paul have been in our thoughts every minute of this day. Amen.
Chemo Update: Double, Double, No Trouble
Hi Everyone,
I got a peaceful, easy feelin’
And I know my body won’t let me down
‘Cause with 5 more treatments.
I’m already standin’
On the ground.
(In honor of The Eagles who were honored at the Kennedy Center this week.)
    Kenny dropped me off an hour early this morning and although I was expecting to read my Kindle while I was awaiting entrance to the inner sanctum (the treatment area), they were able to get me started a little earlier than 10. My tennis friend Nancy was kind enough to meet me there today. It was her maiden voyage to a chemotherapy center, but she proved to be a trouper. After this, she is more than a mere tennis friend. I was concerned that there may have been a paucity of platelets this week, but nooo, they were just fine and we were good to go again – this week for the double dose – two, two, two infusions in one. (Remember the Certs commercial?) I guess eating my super foods is paying off. I also played tennis only once last week instead of two (rest is good) because I had a follow-up appointment with my surgeon at precisely the time of my Friday tennis game. Last Wednesday we lost by two games. Could be worse in the scheme of things.
    The scheme of things to which I refer is tragically, our very close friend Paul wasn’t able to rally. He passed away on Christmas Day. In a week when Christmas and Chanukah are punctuated by the funeral of a very close friend, it should be harder to muster lightness of being. But with Paul being the funniest guy we knew, and often irreverant, he would embrace the tone of my weekly updates. So here’s to Paul, the most jovial guy with the infectious laugh who “didn’t have a mean bone in his body.” This comment by our friend Claudette was immortalized in the funeral eulogy. For years, when I said something that I thought was hilarious, Paul would say, “Melzy, when you’re funny, I’ll let you know.” We are all missing him.
    I think this is funny: You can let me know. This past week I was standing on line in the children’s department at Macy’s to pay for a gift when the woman in back of me says, “I’m just admiring your highlights. They’re really beautiful.” I smiled and said, “Thank you.” She should only know…It made my day, though.
    After three and a half hours at the chemo center, including a 20 minute Zen reflexology foot massage, I was discharged till next week. My relaxed feet were made for walking and Nancy was looking forward to getting some lunch after reading about my post- chemo weekly lunches. We went to Red Tomato and shared a wood oven Margherita pizza. I was at my doorstep by 2 p.m. Perfect.
    For those of you who are keeping me in their thoughts, a big thank you.
January 5, 2017- Four More: Chemo Update

To my dear friends,

Somehow saying “four more” is incendiary these days, but when it refers to my chemotherapy treatments, it’s not so toxic (well, it is, but you know.) Kenny drove me this chilly morning and accompanied me into the inner sanctum, remaining until the blood work was read and it was a go, go, go today! He then went, went, went. My platelet numbers have replenished themselves and are soaring. I’m still a tad anemic, but I’m packing in those super foods. They sure have made an impact on the platelets. I can’t close my pants, but my numbers are good.


I got platelets, they’re multiplying…

‘Cause the power they’re supplying

It’s electrifying!


They’re the ones that I want

Oo-oo-oo, honey

The ones that I want

Oo-oo-oo, honey

The ones that I want

Oo-oo-oo, the ones I need

Oh, yes, indeed

John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John in “Grease”


And who was the lucky person to keep me company today? Back by popular demand, it was Sande. (How a propos to “Grease.”) She even arrived at the center just before we did, so she was waiting near the baby grand piano in the lobby. Play it again, San.

Once I was comfortably ensconced in my cubicle, in walked the nurse’s assistant to take my vitals. I had to laugh (inwardly) when she introduced herself as Mitali. All I could think of was Mitali, a former tennis player friend I had from Alley Pond Park in Queens thirty years ago. She was a devotee of Sri Chinmoy, a spiritual leader and exercise guru. At that time, she changed her very Jewish name, Jane Schlossberger to Mitali and played tennis in something resembling a short sari. We were always afraid she was going to trip over her robes. Nam-Myoho-Renge Kyo.

Sande and I were having a nice visit (It was just a peaceful, easy feeling, hanging with an old friend) when in walked Linda the reflexologist – unsummoned, but great!  She went to work on my feet once again as a preventive measure to ward off any neuropathy, which thankfully, I do not have. Sande, who is interested and familiar with this modality, watched her every move while I closed my eyes. She was impressed with how thoroughly and deftly Linda worked.

Soon after, the buzzer sounded to let us know the treatment was over. I was slightly stoned (Benadryl in the cocktail) as we left the center and drove over to create our own lunch at Whole Foods. Now I realize why I stopped in mid-sentence on the way home a few weeks ago when Sylvia was driving. I couldn’t remember what I was talking about. And I’m vague about my lunch last week with Nancy at Red Tomato. I remember the Pizza Margherita but cannot remember leaving there or the ride home.

I’d like to wish everybody a Happy and healthy New Year. I know a number of you have been praying for me. I may not be religious, but I thank you and God bless you.



Three at Last, Three at last, Thank God Almighty We’re Three at Last

To the dear people in my life,
    There were 18 treatments ahead of me on September 29 and only 3 more to go as of today. I am thrilled to report that I am none the worse for wear. Go figure! (My girlish figure HAS gone because I was instructed early on to EAT!) Speaking of weight, I had an appointment with my oncologist AFTER the infusion today. I hate the way they weigh you – fully clothed and bursting at the seams from two bags of IV that ended ten minutes prior to the appt. I did remove my boots and rings, however. Big deal. (I’m exaggerating slightly- you will still recognize me – you know, the one with the great hair and nice nails.)
    Marie E., my tennis partner par excellence, volunteered to drive me to the center this morning. Kenny had an early appointment so he wasn’t able to drop me off, but Marie lives locally and it was easy for her to swing by (no pun intended) to pick me up. Got there with time to spare and while we were waiting for my blood work to be assessed, who shows up? Kenny! (Looking very dapper, I might add.)He didn’t want to miss the blood results but they took bloody longer than normal and he had to take off by 10:45. Marie was great company and we talked tennis most of the time. (If your ears are itching, we may have mentioned YOU.) We look forward to playing tomorrow morning.
    It is always so cold in the infusion area of the center, so I look forward to the warm blanket and Marie got one as well. Charlie Brown was right: Happiness is a warm blanket. (Sorry, John Lennon – no gun talk today.)
     My white blood cell count is now in range and my platelets are still way up there. The red blood cells are low but have been hanging out in that range for a few weeks. Nothing to fret over. I’ll just keep eating proteins. Too bad those little red pomegranate seeds don’t just turn into red blood cells. Countdown to a juicy shell steak in a few weeks and sushi galore (no, Sushi Galore is not a character from “Goldfinger.”) I actually plan to have sashimi galore, sushi’s paramour.
    My “hair” continues to draw compliments, this time from my Mom. At 95 with dementia, any real conversation has virtually ceased. HOWEVER, I visited her on Monday and she looked at me and said, “You’re VERY blonde.” I asked, “But do you like it?” to which she nodded and smiled. We had a nice visit, eating lunch and listening to CD’s of Broadway tunes. I can sing freely when I’m there because my Mom is hard of hearing. “I like to be in America/Everything free in America/ For a small fee in America!” She keeps tune with her hands like a conductor in an orchestra. I smell a talent show in the near future.
    I’ve been keeping busy with movies and am so pleased that “La La Land” swept the Golden Globes. Kenny and I absolutely loved this delightful romp. But on Tuesday, Ellen R. and I saw “Fences” and I’m wondering why Denzel was passed over for Best Director or Best Actor in a drama. It certainly was dramatic and August Wilson’s script is riveting. I guess I’ll need to see “Moonlighting” in order to figure this out.
  Tennis Update: My Wednesday doubles match was one for the Bethpage books. Margo, (in her “Half Full” wine glass T-shirt) and I were playing against a formidable team. We were down 0-5 (not a pretty picture.) Suddenly it was 1-5, 2-5, 3- 5 etc. until it was 6-6 and we were in a tie break. Libby and Eydie beat us, making the score for the first set 7-6. We had time for 4 more games before the 90 minutes were up and we were in the lead 3-1. I was definitely winded in the very competitive long rallies, but the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I nibble on at the changeovers has proven to be a food of the gods and Gatorade, the nectar.
Don’t forget: The Australian Open starts this weekend. Watching the matches can either help our games or make us want to slit our wrists. I prefer to think they’ve helped my game.
    Marie and I drove towards home at about 1 p.m. and stopped at the diner for lunch. It was prime time and as we waited for a table, an overly friendly woman told us, “Get the turkey burger. They are the BEST.” Marie mentioned tuna salad and she said, “Their tuna salad is the BEST and we’re waiting for a table to open up in a certain section so we can get our waitress who is the BEST.”
    We were seated and I ordered a turkey club wrap (with real turkey as opposed to processed deli turkey). Marie ordered the “best” tuna. We looked up and who was at the very next table? She exuded positive vibes, but thank God she allowed us to eat our lunch in peace.
    Thanks to all of you who have offered me encouragement. YOU’RE the BEST.
Two Thursdays Till Paradise
My dear friends, family and friends who are like family,
Two more treatments to go and once this is all over:
Got a surprise especially for me,
Something that both of us have always wanted to see.
We’ve waited so long, waited so long.
We’ve waited so long, waited so long.
I’ve got two tickets to paradise,
Won’t you pack your bags, we’ll leave tonight,
I’ve got two tickets to paradise,
I’ve got two tickets to paradise.
I’ve got two Thursdays till paradise
Will unpack those IV bags, we’ll leave that night.
I’ve got two Thursdays till paradise.
Two Thursdays till paradise…
 (Thanks to Eddie Money for inspiring my ditty.)
    With today’s theme being “two,” I cannot help but thinking of an old joke Kenny used to tell (and probably every other guy did as well):
A guy walks up to the ticket booth at the train station. A buxom blonde was working at the counter. He took one look at her and asked for “Two pickets to Tittsburgh, please.”
     Back to reality. We were taken into to the treatment area to await the blood test results and on the way, somebody complimented Kenny on his tie. Between my “hair” and his ties… This time I was led to a private room rather than the usual cubicle. Wow! It made me wonder: Private rooms are usually assigned to problematic patients (definitely not me) or VIP treatment. VIP it was. My attending R.N. was especially nice. The results came in and we were good to go once again. Fasten your seatbelts. I was given my weekly cocktail of 4-5 pills, was covered with a warm blanket and Sylvia did a great job of distracting me so I was hardly aware of the IV being inserted. She deserved a warm blanket for that – and was given one. FYI: I never look at the IV. Thank God for conversation.
    It was Double Whammy day: 2 separate IV drips, one following the other, but this was my last “long” visit. Kenny had driven me over as per usual, waited for the blood results and left me in four good hands as he whisked off to work. First Sylvia joined me at about 11 a.m., followed by Sharon C at noon. The plan was for one to sit with me the first hour and the other for the last hour. As of January 1st, we were told that only one person could be with me at a time, but hey, in the VIP room, nobody said a word (except the three of us as we chatted away. They are both in my tennis circle and Sharon is also a pretty good golfer.) We were interrupted when my trusty reflexologist showed up. She asked Sharon and Sylvia to leave for about 20 minutes so she could dim the lights and set up a Zen-like aura. I closed my eyes.
    Once the buzzer sounded, the R.N. unhooked me, took my vitals and sent me on my way – till next Thursday. We had two car (two’s the operative word this week) and headed to an old-fashioned coffee shop called Hildebrandt’s.
    Thanks to the Aussie Open, there’s a whole lotta tennis going’ on   this week on ESPN2. Go Angelique (Kerber, that is, a lefty and ranked #1) and of course, my longtime fave, Rafael Nadal who returns, sporting his new follicular implants, according to the announcers.
    To my many friends who are marching this Saturday, thank you!!
E Pluribus Unum
Dear Friends,
Translation: Out of many, ONE (left)!
My ode to the IV: 
Still the ONE by Orleans
   We’ve been together since way back when
 Sometimes (always) I never want to see you again
And I want you to know
After all these months
You’re is still the ONE
I don’t want dripping in my vein.
You’re still the ONE
I want to throw out of bed
Still the ONE
That turns my head (away)
Everyone’s still having fun
But I still have ONE.
  Kenny dropped me off, stayed for the finger stick blood workup and had to get to work. The appointment was an hour later this week. My good friend Carol, a former colleague at Richmond Hill HS, was lovely enough to accompany me to this penultimate treatment. We always had a great connection through music and books. We saw Donovan together and we share a love for Richie Havens, Dylan and assorted other folkies. Today we talked movies, politics and even tried a little card game of thought-provoking questions. Before we knew it, the treatment ended and we were on our way to have lunch. (Once this is all over, I don’t want to see another diner or restaurant that’s open for lunch!) But nutrition and hydration is key. Today my platelets went UP as did my red & white blood cell numbers. Sitting on the couch the other night shoving in those pomegranate seeds must’ve worked. And the hard boiled eggs – even one is enough for me. How the hell did Paul Newman eat 50? My hemoglobin count was cause for concern today. It is low, but has been in the same range since at least December. I was asked if I feel more tired than usual. Negativo; I’m not generally tired – only after long tennis rallies. I was told to call the doc if I feel especially tired within the next few days. Apparently they want to monitor the hemoglobin.
    Whenever I hear “hemoglobin,” I think of my teaching days when snow was in the weather forecast. I would do a snow dance the night before in the hope that the NYC schools would be closed. Catholic schools would close, local Nassau County schools would close, but   the city NEVER slept – at least when I was there. Kenny would join in my dance and stomp around chanting “Hemoglobin, hemoglobin, hemoglobin.” Why hemoglobin? It just sounded funny according to him.
    This past Monday I decided to attend a make-up workshop at the treatment center so I can figure out what to do with my now non-existent eyelashes. Answer: Nothing. They’ll grow back. There were four other wigged women there and we were told not to wear false eyelashes because the glue can be toxic. It was a pleasant enough session run by two cosmetologists (not my former Maxwell Vocational HS students – believe me I checked.) It did have shades of Maxwell though, especially when one of the make-up artists said, “Some of yiz have more sensitive skin than others.”
    And now on a very sad note: My gorgeous, loving Aunt Charlotte, who is my 95 year-old mother’s identical twin sister (and second mother to me) passed away last evening of pneumonia. She was residing in a nursing home in Englewood, NJ and thank God we all visited yesterday, including my mother. Emily drove my Mom and her aide out and we all met at 1:30. The twins both have dementia, but my Mom, who usually says next to nothing, was shockingly lucid in the moment. She saw the oxygen tank and asked questions. After a little over an hour of visiting, she asked to speak with the doctor, and when the R.N. came over, she asked, “Is it all right if we leave now?” The nurse said, “Absolutely” and my Mom said, “Please take care of her.” She then added, “And call us if something happens.” Emily’s and my eyes welled up. If, in fact, Charlotte was aware of her presence, the cosmos provides.
Love, Melinda
Infusion Conclusion
Hey Everyone,
    It’s Groundhog Day. Think Bill Murray in the film (which is being aired today on AMC all day until 5 a.m. tomorrow.) For the past 19 weeks I’ve been caught in my own time loop, repeating Thursday again and again. Until today. NO more treatments!
    Now think Jim Morrison, oozing sex in his skin tight leather pants, the guitar imitating a sitar:
The End
This is the end, dutiful “friend”
This is the end, my Thursday “friend”, the end.
Of my chemo plans, the end
Of the IV stand, the end…
    I had an appointment with my oncologist immediately following my final infusion and she was pleased with my blood work and the way I tolerated my 18/19 week regimen. She still tells me that my playing tennis throughout makes her smile.
    Kenny took this momentous day off in order to accompany me today. Being the romantic that he is, he presented me with two gifts right in the doctor’s office. I got a little teary for a minute. Several weeks ago, Ken saw a piece on CBS news about a hospital that rings a little bell three times at the conclusion of a patient’s course of cancer treatments. He bought a small brass bell, wrapped it up and presented it with this poem by Irve Le Moyne:
Ringing Out
Ring this bell
Three times well
Its toll to clearly say,
 My treatment’s done
This course is run
And I am on my way!
    But that was not all: He also had a milk chocolate plaque made up with a photo of me sitting on the Rocky statue at the steps of the Philadelphia Museum. We both have our hands up in victory. It was taken the day after I ran the Philly Marathon in 2006.
    Here’s what’s up next: I will have two scans done in about 3 weeks. I opted to have the genetic test today to ascertain if I carry any mutations causing increased cancer susceptibility. The results will be available in approximately four weeks at my next doctor’s appointment. The scans will be reviewed at that time as well. I will continue to eat my super foods and even added beets for dinner tonight. All I remember is my Dad eating borscht with a wad of sour cream when I was kid, so I steered clear of beets all these years.
Since I am still considered to be immune suppressed for another four weeks, I cannot have my sashimi or a medium rare steak yet, but I’ll live. I will continue to wear my wigs and deal with the weekly compliments from strangers. I looked at my wisps of gray stubble this morning and told Kenny I look like an alien. He said, ” No, a baby chimp.”
    To all of you who have helped me these past five months, I love you and admire you for it.
Love, Melinda
Feb. 9, 2017- If It’s Thursday, It Must Be…
    Okay, okay. A number of you asked what I have planned for today- my first chemo-free Thursday. You’re lookin’ at it: snowbound. The groundhog was correct so far. We certainly had one week of winter and it looks as if five to go is a reasonable estimation. Timing is everything with Mother Nature. Just think – if I hadn’t had my last treatment last Thursday, then I’d be sitting around cursing that the snowstorm sabotaged my schedule.
    Just as the schools and many businesses are closed today, so too is the tennis center where I play; hence, the Thursday game I was all set to rejoin was cancelled for today. As Scarlett O’Hara’s last words were in “Gone With The Wind”: “Tomorrow is another day.” And it is. I’m hoping to play in my Friday league manana.
    Today’s a great day to plan our eventual trip to a tropical island.
    If you’re in a snow-coated area, be safe, everyone!
February 16, 2017: The Best Laid Schemes o’ Mice and Men
  Hey Everyone,
    So much for my quoting Scarlett’s “tomorrow is another day,” for tennis last week. Due to last Thursday’s snow event, the tennis center suspended our Friday league. I know Ritta, Marie and I were bummed out. When I wrote last Thursday, the snow was still a-flyin’ and the following hadn’t happened yet:
Dueling Shovelers
    We called Augie, the husband of our cleaning woman to do the shoveling. (Kenny had a terrible cold & cough.) He and two other guys were supposed to arrive at 4:30 or 5. At about 4:45 the doorbell rings and some Spanish guys are out there. Kenny asks one of them, “Are you Augie?” (Kenny had never met him before.) The guy says yes. “Is your wife Betsy?” Yes.
    “Okay, you and your guys can get started.”
    Twenty minutes later my cell phone rings. “Hi Melinda. It’s Augie. We’re here.” I said, “I know you’re here. My husband spoke to you when you arrived.”
    “No, he didn’t. We just got here.”
    Uh oh. We were swindled. The first crew either downright lied or didn’t understand English. Augie spoke to them in Spanish and told them to finish the job. Kenny and I felt terrible because Augie made the trip to our house. However, he had been digging out other houses before ours and he was just fine with going home to have dinner with Betsy.
    That’s our story.
And now, for another snow-related story:
    Last Wednesday night, pre-snowstorm, Emily called with a fantastic offer for us. She worked on the Broadway revival of “Sunset Boulevard,” managed to get two extra tix and invited Kenny and me to opening night. That would include great seats (mezz. first row just off center) and an invitation to a black tie affair at Cipriani. Kenny was really sick with an upper respiratory infection and a wicked cough (see above) and the weather forecast was, well, what it turned out to be. So, we thanked Em for thinking of us, but regrettably we had to decline. This is the reason people gravitate to warm climates in the winter. But then again, those in the warm climates don’t have Broadway! They have the real Sunset Boulevard. But it would’ve been nice to see Close close up.
     I bade farewell to chemotherapy two full weeks ago and I have been getting back to life as I knew it with shows, upcoming museum visits and tennis three times a week. It felt great to finally rejoin my Thursday friendly doubles game this morning. Good competition, but best of all, good people. As the saying goes, you can choose your tennis players, but not your relatives. (That does not pertain to any relative reading this.)
    I am even happy to report that my wispy peach fuzz is starting to grow back. (Don’t get excited; I still look like a balding monkey.) I leave you with a few lines from Clapton:
 Let it grow, let it grow
 Let it blossom, let it flow.
In the sun, the rain, the snow,
Love is lovely, let it grow.
February 23, 2017: Clear to Take Off – Over and Out
Hi Everyone,
I have scanned clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see obstacles out of my way
Here is that rainbow I’ve been praying for,
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-shiny day.
    Despite Johnny Nash’s lyrics, the sun was already out when Kenny and I had a conference call with the doc’s office at 10:30 this morning. I had just arrived home from a wonderfully competitive tennis game in time to discuss Tuesday’s (aka Scan-day’s) results. On Tuesday I had a battery of tests that took almost three hours. First the mammography, then the bone scan followed by the all-important CT scan of the pelvic and abdominal regions. Oh, and what day is complete without a chest x-ray?
    All is groovy except for 5mm worth of scar tissue detected in the left upper abdomen. The oncologist’s P. A., who is attached at the hip to the doctor, says this is very common after surgery and more than likely just scar tissue the size of a pencil eraser. Of course Kenny quipped, “A pencil eraser? How a propos for a teacher.” (Looking back, I wish my students had used pencil erasers instead of that messy, crusty Wite-Out!)
    The doctor does not seem to be overly concerned since the markers in the blood are good and scar tissue is common, but in order to be definitive, she ordered a PET scan, which I have already set up for next Monday. (We’re “on it”. No kidding around here.)
    Once that is done I can concentrate on real celebrating on our trip to Aruba.
    It’s now three full weeks that I bade farewell to chemotherapy and I am no longer winded during long tennis rallies! Remember those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Right now the one that I made for yesterday’s game is rotting in my tennis bag.
    Enjoy the “balmy” weather if you are here in NY.
March 2, 2017- Footloose and Cancer-Free
All my scans are clear, I’m ready to go…
But the dawn is breakin’
It’s early morn
The taxi’s waitin’
He’s blowin’ his horn
Already I’m so excited I could fly.
‘Cause we’re leavin’ on a jet plane
We know when we’ll be back again
Oh babe, I can’t wait to go.
    We’re finally getting out of Dodge. It was a bated-breath wait from Monday evening at 9:30 till Wednesday afternoon at 4:15 when the doc told us that the PET scan detected nothing going on. That “pencil eraser” is indeed scar tissue and I’m cleared for take-off.
   A PET scan is much deeper and comprehensive than the CT scan was. It required a 24-hour prep beginning Sunday at 8 p.m. (during the Oscars.) I had an intravenous radioactive injection one hour before the scan. You know you’re radioactive when you have to use a designated restroom marked “HOT toilet.” Whoa! I’ve heard of hot yoga, but this was a new one to me. Kenny was with me and we arrived home at 9:45 Monday evening. He was tired; I was glowing. Actually I was freaking out, dreading what they would find. I know everything was great up until now, but what if? Do we still go to Aruba? What if I need an immediate intervention of some sort?
    But life goes on and so did I. I went out to a great dinner with my book club on Tuesday night to “celebrate” the end of my chemo treatments, played tennis on Wednesday morning and met Ellen R. to go straw hat shopping Wednesday afternoon. Gotta make sure my new crop of baby hair is covered at the beach. I now look like Baby Herman minus the cigar. We had a lot of laughs. But I still didn’t have the ^%$#*&^ results until…4:15 when I did. I am thrilled to be cancer-free, so wouldn’t you agree/ baby you and me, it’s high time to blow this pop stand?
    I’m loving life again.
P.S. Had my one month post-chemo doctor’s appointment this afternoon where I was told that the 67 genes associated with hereditary cancer all came back negative. No BRCA, no nothin’!
Slathered in Sunblock  March 8-17
    Eight days in paradise at the Ritz Carlton Aruba was just what the doctor ordered, but she could have ordered a few more. The main thing is that every single day I acknowledged how lucky I am to be alive and well. From the minute we arrived at this gorgeous hotel, we took full advantage of our long-anticipated R & R. It didn’t take us long to order our first round of drinks. Each day, after a lovely breakfast at the hotel, we swam in the adults-only pool where conversation with other guests flowed freely as did the drinks we ordered. When we tired of that scene, we walked but a few steps onto the sand and waded into the warm, placid Caribbean waters. Then back to the pool. Shade was at a premium but we were slathered in sunscreen all day. On some mornings, I ran on a designated path along the beach, past other hotels and back in time for breakfast. Running without getting winded- what a treat! Kenny joined me for a walk a few times and we had breakfast when we got back to the hotel – outdoors overlooking the ocean. And the buffet breakfast was delicious. You name it, they had it.
  One morning I came back from my run only to find Kenny talking to a gorgeously tanned young blonde in a blue bikini. It turns out he spotted an insulin pump stuck into her bikini bottom, so he struck up a conversation. They were birds of a feather.
    Our room had a western ocean view, with a spectacular sunset each evening. We sipped red wine (compliments of Andy) on our balcony as we watched the sun dip into the sea, spreading its pastel rays across the horizon.
    About 7 p.m. each evening we were taxied out for dinner. The island prides itself on fine dining and between lots of recommendations from friends and a few from the concierge, we ate well. Not exactly candidates for Gamblers Anonymous, but we did hit the Ritz Carlton casino each night before we went upstairs. Suffice it to say I did NOT lose and we played a few video poker machines for eight nights in a row.
   The biggest bummer is that I couldn’t get my hair braided (not). I’m still sportin’ my wig, and it always looked perfect when I stepped out for the evenings. I get dressed in half the time without having to do my hair. Kenny tells me my real hair is looking like Julius Caesar’s now. How a propos considering it’s the ides of March.
    We were scheduled to depart on Wednesday, but with flights already scrapped on Tuesday and schools closed all over the northeast, we opted to book an additional day. Twist our arms. Why ruin an idyllic vacation getting stuck sitting at an airport?
Blueberry Blooper
    Yes, we know better, but I decided to bring a cup of fresh blueberries to enjoy at the airport on Thursday. Bad move. We got all the way through customs via a computerized screen, but also had to be “interviewed” in person. I freely admitted to the agent that I had a cup of blueberries even though we were well aware that produce cannot be transported internationally. Again, I was planning to snack on them while waiting for the flight. The agent said, “Please step over here, have a seat and someone will be right out.” I said I’d gladly throw them out but there were intentionally no trash receptacles. We sat down. I was pissed; Kenny was really annoyed. We still had about an hour and a half before boarding. I got up and started pacing just as a guard came walking our way. He greeted us with, “I’m your man.” He took us into a room and read us the rules from a chart on the wall. For whatever reason, (probably because I was up front about it) he told us ordinarily there would be a $300 fine for this offense, but he waived it.
    As a result, Kenny and I are still talking.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day. We’re having our annual corned beef and cabbage tonight.
Love, Melinda
March 23, 2017- Study Hall
Hi Everyone,
 Ask not what the study can do for you;
Ask what you can do for the study.
    Okay, so now that I’m back to normal (no comments, c’mon!) I agreed to participate in a two-year national research study which is being locally conducted by my very own oncologist here on Long Island. It’s sponsored by the Gynecologic Oncology Group and funded by the feds through the National Cancer Institute.
     The study aims to find out if a change in diet and exercise in women who have undergone chemo for ovarian cancer has an effect on the length of time they are cancer- free following initial treatment. Based on the two-hour questionnaire I took on Monday morning, right off the bat, I’m assuming I need to eat more vegetables. I am also assuming I do not need more exercise than I already do. The research involves 1,072 women who are presently, by all test results, cancer-free.
    So far I had blood drawn on Monday, answered the lengthy questionnaire and as of today I’m wearing a monitor attached to the waistband of my clothing. I will be wearing it for 7 days and the data gets uploaded daily. A pedometer is on its way and will be worn once the monitor comes off. I’m jogging in place as I type this.
More Coif Kudos
Ever go somewhere where the people you see consistently make you feel good? That would be my dentist’s office. Okay, I do bring chocolate to the receptionist every time I go, but both the hygienist and the dentist always compliment me on the condition of my teeth. Today the receptionist says, “You did something different with your hair. It’s so becoming.” (Yeah, it fell out from chemotherapy, I wanted to say, but they are not privy to my recent medical history.)
I said, “Thank you, but what about my teeth?”
I hope all of you out there are healthy and happy.
April 6, 2017
Say kids, what day is it?  It’s Thursday Update Day.
    After wearing it for one full week, I kissed my activity monitor goodbye this morning and sent it off via the US Mail. Each evening I had to upload the data which was sent to God knows where and tomorrow I will begin to wear the pedometer that was sent to me by the LIVES study (Lifestyle Intervention for oVarian cancer Enhanced Survival.) Based on the one hour telephone conference I had today with my “coach,” just a few things nutritionally will have to be tweaked. I have to increase my vegetable intake to 4 per day and decrease the fruits (2 daily.) In the vegetable department, it’s not just ANY four a day, but a beta carotene, a cruciferous etc. Any one into nutrition knows this stuff. But do we follow it? I was thrilled to find out that drinking in moderation is just fine. Cheers.
    As for the pedometer, it will measure distance, especially physical activity. However many steps it measures the first week, I will be asked to do more. Not to worry: I already played back to back tennis and golf one day this week. Seriously, I will follow whatever the recommended or required regimen is if it will keep me as healthy and happy as I am today. Amen.
    I had a great birthday earlier this week. Kenny and I had a fabulous sashimi dinner at Kotobuki and I’ve been celebrating my good fortune and my birthday with lots of friends. I even got to spend some time with Emily who’s perpetually inundated with her work on Broadway musicals. We took a trip out to East Hampton for a few hours last Saturday, walked on the desolate beach, which is only this peaceful off-season and had lunch on a  picnic table at Luigi’s,  her favorite East Hampton Italian deli. It is so rare that we spend any quality time together, so this was a treat.
 Oh, and may Don Rickles rest in peace. He always cracked me up with irreverent lines like, “Who picks out your clothes – Stevie Wonder?” He once said his biggest fear on stage was that he might not offend every single person in the audience.
    As one of my favorite lyrics from the Sixties goes:
This is the time and life that I am living
And I’ll face each day with a smile…
April 13, 2017-                           Pedometry 101 and Broccoli Breath




our More: Chemo Update
My glass of red, red wine, makes me feel so fine…


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Is a Graphic a “Novel?”

Welcome to the world of graphic novels and young adult (YA) lit. I never knew James Patterson has a whole series of young adult novels, but there they were on the desks in an 8th grade English class. I noticed a few of the kids had graphic novels that they were reading during the 20 minute “Independent Reading” segment. Before I could even get my question out, a boy defended himself, “Our teacher lets us read them.” I’m old school where graphic novels are equated with (God forbid) comic books. Anyway, an adorable boy was stumped about how to express the mood that was created in his book. He said it was “kind of like when you eat a Tic Tac and it has a lot of flavor at first, but then it wears off.” Hopefully he can find some textual details to support this great imagery. This Tic Tac Queen never thought of that one.

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Sub Stories

Melinda Ehrlich

April 5 at 7:30pm ·

In a World History class the kids were working on Document Based Questions (DBQ) about Gorbachev and glasnost. I was circulating around the room when a hand went up.
Me: Do you need some help?
Girl: No, but my friend really likes your nails.
OMG! Flashback to my Maxwell days where hair and nails ruled.


“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!” Wow! When was the last time I taught “Romeo and Juliet!” It had to be around the Millennium since I didn’t teach freshmen for a few years before I retired in ’05. But I’ll tell ya, it’s like getting back on a bike. You never forget. The kids have a quiz tomorrow and reviewing the 6 scenes of Act II with them felt so natural. The best part is that I may “exeunt” today and need not be thither on the morrow.

Talk about spacing out! A class was taking a practice Living Environment Regents exam (better known to us as Bio.) The real deal is scheduled for next week. Fifteen minutes in, I noticed a girl totally immersed in splitting the ends of her hair. I went over to remind her to start her test and she looked up and thanked me. The kicker is I can relate to this behavior. True confession.

Here’s a very heartening story. There is a young man with whom I have had a less than warm relationship whenever I’ve substituted in his classes. In fact, he was such a hostile presence one day that I “wrote him up.” (OMG! He hated me even more after that.) Nothing too serious; he’s just a senior who’s had senioritis ALL year. Today I covered a self-contained special ed. class for 3 periods and who shows up to have one of the school aides in the room sign his yearbook? You guessed it. We ignored each other and I allowed him to get his book signed. But while he was waiting, I couldn’t help but notice how he fraternized with the 8 developmentally delayed kids in the class. He was high-fiving, even hugging a couple of them and they all knew him. I went over and said, “Joe (not his real name), I’m seeing a whole other side to you right now and it’s really nice.” He smiled (at me – wow!) and said, “This is the field I’m going into.” He’s planning to minor in special education in college. That’s all.

Covering science classes today when a young lady walks in with a full head of purple hair. “Aren’t you the teacher who wrote the book?” she asked. Flattered that she remembered, I said, “Yes, but did you have purple hair the last time I saw you?”
“No, it was green,” she answered matter of factly.
ROY G BIV lives.



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It’s Greek To Us

One day last week I covered a math program – Common Core mathematics, which confuses the issue in a new and improved way. I never saw more baffled students as they left their math class and went on to their next subject. I know because I’ve talked to them. I sat in on a geometry lesson (an Inclusion class) in which the teacher was introducing pre-trig. concepts. She appeared to be a good teacher – well-prepared and familiar with the subject at hand. She presented well. She incorporated the good old SOHCAHTOA formula for finding tangent, sine and cosine. I got those concepts, but not with the method that was being scrawled all over the Smart board. My deepest sympathy to the struggling students. Thankfully, many of them have a math review class in their schedules. Just don’t ask me to help; Common Core is Greek to me: Sigma, delta and theta.

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Take Off Your Crown and Spit Out Your Gum

Covering a great English program today. Honors, A.P. English and Creative Writing. What could be bad – and how can one teacher be so lucky to have this program? (And with a program like this, why is she absent?) Meeting an 11th grade Honors class in the computer lab, I assisted with “memoirs,” really one-page autobiographical essays. They had been previously written and edited and had to be printed and ready to be submitted to a contest tomorrow. Semicolons, or a lack thereof, posed a problem in every paper I looked at. They just didn’t use them, but who did in high school? When I was teaching writing, I always made it a point to teach usage and punctuation, even when it was out of favor in the dumbing down of America’s curricula. Oh well, these kids will survive. Their stories were otherwise nicely written. The A.P. English class was reading about Nietzsche’s theory of the Ubermensch. They actually sat quietly all period and concentrated on this. Their homework assignment was to read Part I of Crime and Punishment. Very lofty, but it’s Advanced Placement with the exam coming up this spring. On the flip side, the class clowns are in their glory whenever there’s a sub. In today’s Creative Wriitng class, a senior (yes, a senior!) was sporting a Burger King crown. The weird thing is, I think I was the only one who noticed it. It’s been 11 years since I walked away from the classroom and it feels nice to be back on this very limited basis. No strings attached, no emotional investment and best of all, no papers to grade.

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Relax, It’s Only Tennis

At my Friday doubles game, Marie, my partner extraordinaire, was playing very well. I was just okay. We were neck and neck with our opponents, but every time I made a stupid error I became more aggravated with myself. Marie knows me so well. She said, “Relax – it’s only tennis.” I joked, “If I’m like this with tennis, imagine me in real life.” So I heeded her advice, took a deep breath, but  lost the next two points! That was it. My intensity (aka tension) returned and we closed out the set 6-4. We looked at each other and Marie sheepishly admitted, “It’s never only tennis.”

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The Difference Between a Teacher and a Sub

Setting: The hallway on the second  floor of the local high school in which I have been substitute teaching. This period I am assigned to hall patrol in a school where the halls are dead for the most part.  There’s really nothing to patrol. I brought a book with me and would have read a few pages during the period, had it not been for the friendly fellow substitute teacher I met. I didn’t know he was a sub until we introduced ourselves. He told me that he is a retired cop with a teaching license  (wait a second – shouldn’t he be doing the patrolling?) who has been working per diem in this school for a few years. He loves it, he says, and “they know can call me as late as 7:35 in the morning (school starts at 7:50) and I can get here because, hey, I don’t have to blow dry my hair (he’s pretty bald) and I live right across the street.” All this I found out within the first five minutes of our conversation. He was walking down the hall and stopped at my post – and didn’t leave until the bell rang! I mentioned the word “golf” in the conversation and bingo! He talked golf for the rest of the period. Golfers can do that. I managed to get a few words in edgewise, but he was fired up about the birdie that eluded him. I get it. I sized him up as the type of guy who knows all the ropes at this school; hence, a good person to know.

Now here’s my point. If I were working as a regular English teacher, would I have time to schmooze for 40 minutes? Never! So as Diane Keaton liked to say in “Annie Hall,” la di da.

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Marji, Allan Ginsberg and Me

Marji & Me @ the Museum
Back in college, Marji’s dorm room was decorated with the sensuous posters of Maxfield Parrish. How do I remember that? Posters were important statements of who we were in those days. I had a “Suppose they gave a war and nobody came?” poster whose slogan was ascribed to Carl Sandburg. Of course we can’t forget that black & white pop art poster of Paul Newman in a T-shirt hanging on the ceiling over my bed. (TMI?) We had good times, no doubt.
Recently the Nassau County Museum of Art mounted an exhibit of Maxfield
Parrish’s work. I contacted Marji and we made a date to see it. A docent-led tour filled in the blanks on Parrish’s technique of achieving that luminosity and the cobalt blues that he used have come to be known as “Parrish Blue.” His posters, magazine and calendar illustrations are really stunning & Marji & I are glad we reconnected for the occasion.

As for the posters that adorned our rooms, many were wavy, psychedelic abstract designs painted in Day-Glo. If you had a black light, it would glow in the dark, often providing an evening’s entertainment. We didn’t need much. Peter Max was big, as my friend Barb reminded me when she read the above post on Facebook. So was artist Milton Glaser, whose now-iconic Dylan poster was included as a bonus in the album cover  of Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits in 1967. Lots of vinyl record albums included posters as bonus material and they were decorating the rooms of a whole generation of baby boomers. My roommate and I even took a trip to the Village expressly to buy posters for our room. Hendrix and Jim Morrison were prominently pinned up on walls, as were any band you can name from the Sixties. Posters of Jefferson Airplane from the Surrealistic Pillow days and Fillmore East and West concert posters were everywhere. Marijuana was still very illegal and you had to be careful about the posters you hung up. In fact, paranoia struck so deep (sic) that I removed a poster of a peace march featuring Allen Ginsberg flaunting a sign that said, “Pot is Fun.”  Getting busted for a poster would not have been fun.

The ubiquity of peace signs and anti-war messages reminded everyone that the Vietnam “conflict” was a-raging. Picasso’s famous bouquet of flowers (Fleurs et Mains) and Maxfield Parrish’s mellow, sensuous landscapes…Dorm room décor included them all.


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A Can o’ Worms

Oh my! That last blog opened up a can ‘o worms. All the funny stuff that happened while I was a teacher is rushing back. Stuff that was not included in my book like that overweight teacher who wore a sweat band while she was teaching. What a workout! And it was not in the gym!

I had commented on the “Wizard of Oz” poster that adorned the French classroom at the local high school in which I am currently subbing. Well,  I had forgotten to point out another – a take-off on that familiar morale boosting poster: Restez Calmes et Parlez Francais. Originally “Keep calm and carry on” was a British slogan/poster, created in 1939 at the outbreak of World War II. As I carry on calmly, I have a new ploy. Next time I face a new class, I don’t introduce myself in the mundane manner I have been doing: Hello, my name is Mrs. Ehrlich and I taught English in New York City for  over 30 years.” Bor-ing! My new line is,”Hi, I am not a sub; I am here to gather material for my next book.” Let’s see how this is received…

Ah, to be in a suburban English classroom filled with lots of book shelves and class sets of the books you plan to teach for the term at your fingertips (instead of trudging down the hall or even to a different floor to count out books and pray that there are enough. I refer to NYC.) I saw neatly shelved copies of “The Crucible,” “Death of a Salesman,” “Macbeth,” “A Separate Peace, “The Odyssey,” “The Namesake,” and “Sophie’s World,” a new one for me, but billed as “a page-turning novel that is also an exploration of the great philosophical concepts of Western thought.” Good stuff. In today’s subbing assignment, the classes were reading Michael Chabon’s “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” and “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” After meeting these classes, I think those last two books may be a stretch, but one never knows. It all depends  upon the teacher and how ambitious he or she is.

Kids are kids and they are intent on seeing what they can get away with once they get wind of a sub in the room, but look out, ’cause I’ve got “skills” from years of classroom management. I could easily wing it, but thankfully the teachers leave detailed plans for every class – even enough photocopies for every student. There seems to be a nice camaraderie amongst the teachers who share the rooms and everyone I’ve met has been helpful. I had to laugh when I saw a young teacher writing an “Aim” and a “Do Now” on the whiteboard. I noticed the Aim began with “To read Chapter One and discover the main characters.” I told her in New York City, that structure went  out the window 20 years ago. Instead, it would have to be written in the form of a question: What have we discovered about the characters we met in Chapter One?” Such nonsense. She agreed.

We acted out the screenplay of “A Few Good Men” – expletives and all – in one class and those who read parts were really good! In any other class, a kid who used such language would be written up, but not here. They could “handle the truth.” Now I have to see the movie again.  Another class took a quiz and once it was handed in, they were instructed to read a chapter from the Chabon novel, which segued into talking amongst themselves. Since there were only a few minutes left, and being the talker that I am, I jumped right in. Then the bell rang. School’s out till next week…

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Pimples, Pimples Everywhere

Now that golf season is just about over (who can complain when it extended well into December – in New York!), it’s time to go indoors for a little something different. So I interviewed at a local high school to work as a sub two days a week. Ha ha, a sub, you laugh. But it’s a very civilized little school with polite kids, a courteous, well-dressed (no jeans) staff and four minutes from my house.


Day 1: I haven’t seen this many pimples since I retired ten years ago.

Spent one period on hall patrol (they seem to assign regular teachers this period of R & R) and in 40 minutes, only two Ugg-clad students shuffled by my post – and both had cameras for the yearbook. What happened to the stragglers and the cutters I was so used to seeing in the city? They don’t exist here.

During the first period, which runs from 7:50 a.m. to roughly 8:35, the halls were alive with the sound of music – not piped in, but band practice around the bend. (The school layout is square-shaped.) On my first morning I was instructed on how to take attendance on the computer and I had to do very little in most classes whose teachers had left detailed lessons for the kids to complete. (I did come prepared with a couple of my own emergency poetry lesson just in case. ) And get this: In 5 class periods that I covered, only 2 kids were absent! I don’t want to ever hear a teacher in this school district complain how hellish the teaching profession is. They are truly sheltered and can be considered blessed, in some circles. Of course, I thrived on the daily challenges thrust upon me for 33 years in the NYC public school system. It made for great material – and in retrospect, something to be proud of. This is not to say the teachers aren’t teaching here; they most certainly are.

A few kids even thanked me as they exited the room at the end of the period. Were they thrilled that they had a sub or did they thank me for providing them with some entertainment? I read the French classes an excerpt from my book, Take Off Your Hat and Spit Out Your Gum – A Teacher’s Memoir. I carry a copy to school since it’s about high school and for the French classes, I read a section entitled, “The Only Thing To Fear is the French Teacher Herself.” The French teacher who was absent has a beautifully decorated classroom, adorned with knickknacks and souvenirs from France and even a magazine rack stocked with French magazines and comics for the students to read. My favorite poster was one of Dorothy that said, “Toto, je dois le sentiment que nous ne sommes pas plus au Kansas.”

Let’s see what the New Year brings in the wonderful world of substitute teaching. All I know is it feels great to leave the building without a care in the world about having to come back the next day.

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