Sass, Savvy and Sweet Salvation Thanks to Sadie Marquardt

Last week was a rough chemo week, but it wasn’t anything a few good shimmies couldn’t fix.  The usual chemo side effects crept in around Sunday night and then laid me flat by Tuesday.  However, after spending way too many hours in bed sleeping or reading Deep Down Dark: The Untold Stories of 33 Men Buried in a Chilean Mine, and the Miracle That Set Them Free, the effects of chemo started subsiding. By Friday, I was feeling perky enough to head to downtown Seattle for a dance workshop with the amazing Sadie, and the weekend just kept getting better from there.

I love going to belly dance workshops.  It’s what feeds dance creativity, and I believe it’s important to support our dance community whenever we can.  I would have attended the entire weekend with Sadie had life not been so interruptive lately.  As it was, I was able to attend the Friday workshop and half of the Saturday workshop, and I’m absolutely grateful that I did.

Hailing from Denver, CO, Sadie is a lovely dancer and a beautiful person.  I must confess I didn’t know that much about her before attending her workshop except that one of her dances seems to be ubiquitous on YouTube.  Or, at least, ubiquitous for those of us who use YouTube to relentlessly search belly dance videos.  That video alone has had nearly 29 million views.  Imagine if every living soul in Ireland, Norway, Switzerland and Greece had watched you belly dance.  That’s how many people have seen that video alone.

The Friday class focused on “Creating Your Signature Dance Set.”  As far as restaurant dancing and putting together a set, I’d probably put myself in the “veteran” category.  I was fortunate to dance in lots of Seattle area restaurants and clubs for a period of about seven years, often performing 6 or 7 sets a week.  It adds up (over 2,000 sets!) so I sort of had my signature set down after a while.  However, I wanted to get Sadie’s insight to see if there were any great nuggets of wisdom to pass along to my own students.

Sadie is one hot tamale!
And just as beautiful as a person!

Sadie was smart and honest about what it takes to succeed as a belly dancer.  It was also clear how much she honors the dance and its origins.  She gave us a chance to practice stage presence and gave us some fun tricks, especially a tasty little veil wrap. 

I wasn’t able to swing childcare for Saturday morning and was also being careful about my energy level, so I slipped into only the second half of the Saturday workshop which focused on “Drum Solo Secrets.”  This is where Sadie’s technical abilities really shined.  She kicked my butt for sure, and maybe every butt in that room.  I was especially impressed with her patience to see a move through.  There was a part of the workshop where the collective frustration of the attendees was palpable.  We weren’t grasping a layering technique and the mechanics of it.  If I had been teaching, I might have crumbled and simply moved onto a different technique.  But Sadie stuck with it, and continued to explain and demonstrate the move in different ways.  Eventually understanding seemed to click into place around the room.  She didn’t back off, and in doing so, we learned a tricky technique and the value of tenacity.

The weekend with Sadie couldn’t have come at a better time. After a rough week, it felt good to be in the presence of such a positive and inclusive instructor.  It was also great to be surrounded by friends. I attended Friday’s workshop with one of my best dance buds, the lovely and talented Mirabai, and at the workshop were many sweet and familiar faces.  There's nothing like a bunch of hugs from sparkly, fabulous women to make a person feel loved and alive.

It helped, too, to hear Sadie's thoughts on what it takes to be a great restaurant dancer.  She talked about how restaurant gigs force a dancer to be extremely versatile, intuitive and clever, while being thick-skinned enough to deal with sharing attention with distractions like flaming cheese.  I had always beaten myself up for not being a great theater dancer.  In the two dozen or so times that I’ve been able to dance on a theatrical stage, it hasn’t always gone well.  For example, I fell off of a dumbek in front of 800 people at the Bagley Wright Theatre.  Not cool.  But restaurant gigs, well, I had those down.  Lots of practice helped, of course, but after several years of gigging on a regular basis, I feel like I wasn’t half bad at reading people and situations and adjusting my performance on the fly.  I’d still like to nail a stage performance someday, but after this weekend, I let go of feeling like a failure because I was primarily a restaurant dancer.  That’s big!

The dance workshop was also healing because cancer treatment had recently forced me to give up a part of my dance life that was precious to me.  After 12 years of teaching belly dance, last week I announced that I would no longer be teaching.  I love my students and it broke my heart to let go of my classes, but with chemo, and then surgery, then radiation, then reconstruction, I just couldn’t see how I could continue.  I have taught through getting a Master’s degree, two pregnancies and a move to Olympia.  It was cancer treatment that finally forced a difficult decision. 

As I told my students, I have to believe that something good will come of this. Already after dancing this weekend, I see hope in the future.  I’m determined to become a stronger dancer after this, even if I have to dance with scars. Maybe someday I’ll start teaching in Olympia. And for my students, I knew another teacher had been arranged for them, but I didn’t know who she was.  The beautiful coincidence is that she happened to be at the workshop with Sadie, and one of my dance friends was able to introduce us.  The new teacher, Soraya, has a long dance history and is a lovely, lovely person.  I’m so happy for my students and I know they are in good hands.   

At Zaina in Seattle's Pioneer Square in 2005, and,
no, I'm not balancing a speaker on my head.
That would have cost extra.

I am so grateful to Sadie, to the amazing Roxy for hosting the workshops, and to my many wonderful sisters in dance.  As I head into my last treatment of chemo and with surgery just a few weeks away, I know this dance, this community, will continue to be a source of strength.  I also feel a renewed commitment to stick with it. Twenty years of belly dance isn’t enough – I want 20, 40, maybe even 60 more.   There are so many reasons that I love being a belly dancer.  Here’s one:

My four-year-old son, Carter, is obsessed with Princess Elsa from Disney’s Frozen.  I’ve caught him having conversations with posters of her and we’ve played “Let It Go” oh, about fifty million times in the car.  I asked him, “Do you like Princess Elsa?” “Yes, I like her a lot.”  “Do you think she’s pretty?” “Yes, but she doesn’t belly dance.”  So, this heiress to the throne of Arendelle with the power to make whole palaces of ice and plunge her kingdom into eternal winter falls short of amazing because she doesn’t belly dance. Sorry, Elsa, guess you’re not as cool as Carter’s mom.

For more information about Sadie, please visit her website.

If you’d like to buy a T-shirt to support the construction of a Healing Garden at St. Pete’s Hospital, follow this link: https://www.booster.com/joyfullycrabby1.  My very kind father-in-law designed the T-shirt in my honor and it includes the crab that is now tattooed on the back of my neck to help me fight cancer, known fondly as “Hildegard.”  Thank you for your support!

Lost at Sea Due to AC

I’m now in week 17 of 20 weeks of treatment.  Or, put an even better way, I just had my second to last chemo infusion yesterday.  HOORAY! I have finished 12 weekly treatments of a Taxol cocktail and now 3 every-other-week treatments of AC, with only one more to go.  I’m so excited to be done with chemo, even with surgery, radiation and reconstruction ahead.  The AC regimen has totally kicked my butt, so I’m looking forward to finishing it and getting back to my old self.

The best way I can describe how it feels is being lost at sea and hanging onto a piece of driftwood.  I get the AC infusion (yesterday it took about 4.5 hours) along with a steroid, so I feel sort of okay for a few days.  Maybe a little disoriented and hyper – like I’ve just been thrown from a ship but I’m buzzed to be alive.  Then, after a couple of days, when the steroid wears off, I enter very dark, very stormy waters.  I’m nauseated, I hurt, I can’t think, and I’m barely able to get out of bed.  I literally have dreams of drowning.  There are moments here and there when I come up for air, but mostly I’m plunged into chemo hell.  After a few days, the storm subsides and I’m left exhausted, just drifting.  It’s at this point that my white blood cells are dipping to their lowest and I have to hope that I don’t catch anything since my system is unable to fight infection.  Usually during this time I start getting awful sores in my mouth and throat. Around day 10, I start coming back to normal.  It’s like the sun comes out and a boat rescues me and for three or four days, I try not to be too dazed because, well, I still have work to do.  So, I madly try to cram all of my writing for my consulting business into the days when my brain is working.  Then, I go back to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, and they (very kindly) throw me off the boat and into the AC sea again.

Only one more treatment left.  January 15. I just have to get through the side effects of the treatment that I received yesterday, then the next treatment, and I figure by the end of January, I can start feeling “normal” again, at least until surgery. Happy day!  Thanks to all of the wonderful friends and family who have been helping us get through this patch and others who are signed up to help us in the coming weeks.  We have the kids home right now instead of daycare to reduce the amount of new germs coming into the house. That has meant extra help since I’m stuck in bed for about a week at a time now.

To name a few of the people who have stepped in selflessly and with an abundance of love and support: my mom, my in-laws Sharon & Bob, Aunt Catina, Uncle Dave & Aunt Mary, my irrepressible friend Penny, the lovely Emily, sweet Juliana and more to come.  Thanks also to my cousins Jeb & Kathy and to Taiece for visiting me during chemo. Thanks also to everyone for the kind cards, emails, texts and PMs.  I do my best to get back to you, but, well, if I’m getting swallowed by waves of chemo, I hope you can understand.  And finally, the kids and I would be truly lost without Josh.  Thank you for being our rock.  I love you.

St. Peter and the Quest for Wheat Toast

It’s day three here at Providence St. Peter Hospital and other than being hooked to an IV for 60+ hours and a desperate yearning for wheat toast, it’s not bad. The downside is that it looks like for the next 5-6 weeks, I’m going to be “The Joy in the Bubble” and we’re going to need a lot more help with the kids.

St. Peter, the Rock
I arrived here on Thursday night with a fever.  Because I’m now on the AC chemo regimen (a.k.a. the “red devil”) I’m at risk for low white blood cells and therefore infection.   The magic temperature that sets off action is 100.4.  My temperature was 100.5, so I had called the after hours resident on call at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.  We were told to go to the nearest emergency room immediately so they could give me antibiotics. We headed out to St. Pete’s in Olympia, about 10 minutes from our house. As I write this, I’m feeling pretty fantastic.  However, at that moment, I was going downhill fast.  I was achy and chilled, my throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it.  I was grateful Josh came with me (my mom was home with the kids) and was looking forward to grabbing a prescription and heading home.

Au contraire mon frère. My white blood cell count was crazy low so they admitted me.  Poor Josh stayed with me until they found a room for me at 3 am and he still had to go to work on Friday. 

The next morning, an oncologist from St. Pete’s visited me and gave me the scoop on my counts. She also let me know that I would have to avoid raw vegetables and fruits that can’t be peeled because my system can’t fight the bacteria that might be on them.  Somehow, the hospital kitchen, “Cascade Cuisine…Excellence Through Compassionate Service,” interpreted this to mean I can’t have many foods, including raisins or wheat toast.

So, for the last couple of days, I’ve been holed up at St. Pete’s getting pumped with antibiotics.  The nurses and MA’s have been phenomenal.  It’s also been nice to get to know the oncology staff here at St. Pete’s.  I really liked the oncologist yesterday.  He gave me the skinny on everything, and then when I told him about my wheat toast ordeal, he seemed as annoyed as I was about the kitchen’s refusal to give it to me and entered a note into my dietary restrictions:

Patient not to have raw fruits and vegetables.  Patient may have all other foods including cooked vegetables, fruits with peels that can be removed, and wheat toast.

Apparently, he was also in the hallway grumbling something like, “And for goodness sakes, let’s let that poor woman order some wheat toast.”

Unfortunately, the power of a renowned oncologist only goes so far at Cascade Cuisine because this morning I tried to order wheat toast along with oatmeal and raisins.  All the meds can really mess up a system so it’s nice to have some roughage. 

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.  It says right in the computer you are on a soft diet.  No raisins.  No wheat toast.”

“But, I'm not on a soft diet.  My teeth work fine.  I’m on a general diet, I just can’t have raw fruits and vegetables.”

“Talk to your nurse and call me back.”

Enter: my hero, Becky the RN.  Becky has some spunk and even as a kid used to get in trouble for sassing her teachers in Scotland.  I like her a lot.  She called Cascade Cuisine and read them the note on my file, the same note that is on Cascade Cuisine's computer screen.

“So, if it says she can have wheat toast, why does she need to have a conversation about it?”

Becky rocks.  I got my wheat toast while writing this blog entry.

The Joy in the Bubble

I’m headed home sometime today, but life is going to change a bit.  I’m still really susceptible to catching any little bug that comes along and it’s very dangerous if I get sick because my system can’t fight it.  This means I’m going to have to limit my time in public.  When I do go out, I’m probably going to have to wear a mask, especially during the window after chemo and before my white blood cells recover 10 days later.  I’ll be washing my hands profusely and dousing myself with hand sanitizer.  It totally sucks.  I don't like being such a delicate little flower.

Then, there’s the issue with our kids.  They are walking petri dishes, and they are mixing and matching germs with other walking petri dishes at daycare.  So, we might be pulling them out of daycare and keeping them at home.  We’re going to need a lot of help, especially because the AC chemo knocks me so far down that I won’t be able to care for them for several days after treatment.  

CALL FOR HELP: Any (healthy) friends out there who want to come to Olympia for a day to help with the kids, let me know. We’re setting up a calendar.

Fortunately, this happened during a time of year when people are typically antisocial so it’s not like we’ll be missing any parties or anything and people generally have copious extra hours of time on their hands to help us out. Oh, boo.  There’s always next year.  Except that I’ll probably be undergoing an 8-hour reconstructive surgery next December.  Okay, there’s always Christmas 2016. THAT Christmas is going to be phenomenal!

Thanks to everyone for their support.  I’d also like to send a special note of thanks to Denise McCroskey. Her own breast cancer blog helped me immensely and when I contacted her this weekend, she got right back to me with really wonderful words of encouragement.  You’re amazing, Denise!  Here's one of her posts about Adriamycin Cytoxan (AC).

Catching Up with Chemo Part Three: Europe

I indicated there would be more uplifting posts and I promise, this is one of them!  Part travel log, part love story, here’s my tale of traveling to London, Paris and Bath and, other than a little fatigue the first day and being bald, this story has very little to do with chemo.

My husband and I had been hoping to go to London for a while. Our beautiful and charming friends, Sam and Bri, moved there for work and we were dying to visit them.  Since in 2013 we were busy being pregnant and then parents to a newborn, 2014 was officially our year for international travel.  Then, this whole cancer business popped up.  Fortunately, we were able to work it out with my doctors who not only flexed my schedule, but also encouraged me to go.  It was the best thing for me.  If there isn’t already a foundation that supports sending chemo patients on vacation, there should be.  I had a chance to step off of the rollercoaster of physical and mental stress and to enjoy life again.  But to understand this story, let’s step back even farther…to about 11 years ago at a place called the Irish Emigrant in Seattle’s U-District…

I met my husband, Josh, on karaoke night at a divey bar that was once the Irish Emigrant.  Dangerous Dan was hosting and the drinks were flowing as usual.  Neither of us can sing, but Josh’s friend, Tristin, can do a mean rendition of “Piano Man” that brings down the house.  I couldn’t help but to give Josh a “your friend’s good” nod, and it was then that he made his move.  Before we knew it, we were sharing beers and eventually sang “And It Stoned Me” together.  I still remember how his hand felt on my back as he led me to the stage.  I felt like I was home.

We were married in 2007 and now have two little kiddos running around the house.  Life with Josh is chaotic, loud and fun: that’s what I get for marrying a big, gregarious Italian who, as we say, puts the “ass” in “assertive.” He’s also incredibly caring and the most honest person I know and he puts up with me, which is a feat in itself.  I won’t say we've never had challenges. We learned the hard way that if you leave your marriage on the back burner, eventually the soup will cook off and the pot will burn.  Or something like that.  Though I would never recommend going through a rough patch to learn a lesson, I will say that it oddly prepared us for what is happening now. We don’t take our marriage for granted, and I’m grateful everyday that Josh is by my side. This cancer thing is just another chapter, it’s temporary, and it will pass.  At least we’re together.

So, traveling to Europe in the midst of chemo with my husband, sans children, was particularly restorative.  We left on Halloween night and arrived in London at noon the next day.  Ever classy, our friends sent a car for us.  We were scooped up at the airport and brought straight to their doorstep.  They live in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment not far from Kensington Gardens.  The place oozed our friends’ good taste.  In fact, I understand that they have a dining room table and chairs for sale, should one desire to have some of that good taste for one's very own.  (More information and plenty of unsolicited commentary available on Facebook.)

The first night in London, we went to an amazing Lebanese restaurant, Al Waha.  We ordered the set menu and then sat back and watched as one beautiful dish after another paraded before our eyes.  That’s a lie!  We inhaled the food like rabid hyenas – no sitting back and watching for us!  We even dug into the basket of raw vegetables placed at our table, though there was some concern that the vegetables were actually a centerpiece.  We’re talking whole bell peppers, scallions, a head of lettuce, there might have been rutabagas in there, I don’t know.  If anyone knows if this is for ambiance or consumption, please let us know.  I’d hate for Sam and Bri to get kicked out of their favorite Lebanese restaurant for eating the decorations.

My belly dancer heart, of course, was in heaven.  Fattoush!  Kibbeh! Falafel! I ate so much that I nearly had to be rolled back to the apartment.  I passed out at about 8 pm that night and didn’t wake up until 4 pm the next day.  Usually I hate being lazy, but I figured I had the mother of all good excuses: I’m fighting cancer. Boom!

The next day we ate at Côte Brasserie which appears to be UK chain, but very upscale French and it prepared us for our journey ahead: Paris.  You might also notice that a pattern is emerging.  I like to travel by stomach.  Sam was very hungry that night and ordered half the menu.  We have no idea how he still fits into his skinny jeans.

On Monday, we flew to Paris.  Because our friends are in the UK to work, we wanted to give them some time during the week to do just that.  It was a sacrifice, to be sure, but being the good friends we are, we suffered through several days of Paris.

Paris.  To love this city is cliché I suppose, but how can you not?  Everywhere we turned, there was beauty: stunning, poetic, heartaching beauty.  I had been there about 12 years earlier with my mom and this time, once we stepped onto Paris’s streets, I couldn’t believe I had stayed away so long. The architecture, the river, the light, the love songs sweetly pressed through accordions, the fashionable women en velo talking on cell phones, the joie de vivre and, of course, the food. What’s not to love?!

Our first day there, we explored a bit, but since rain was coming down in buckets, we holed up in a little corner café and drank champagne as the wet world went by.  My observation about what’s in vogue in Paris at the moment?  Bedhead.  Gorgeous designer clothes, fabulously quaffed suits, stylish shoes and accessories, and serious I-just-had-a-good-romp bedhead.  The contrast actually works, but of course, Parisian women seem to have a knack for putting together a look that is both edgy and classic at the same time.  Made me miss my hair – my wig was far too structured no matter how much I tried to mess it up.  Guess I should have employed Josh to help me mess up my wig. hehe

Around 6:30 pm, we were starting to get hungry so we set out to find a restaurant for dinner.  We leaped over puddles and hurried through the wet cobblestone streets until we came upon a restaurant with a lovely menu.  Glad to be out of the rain, we quickly stepped inside and politely asked for a table for two.

You would have thought we had just said, “We would like to get naked in your dining room and then set the curtains on fire.”  We’re talking utter, record-scratching, jaw-dropping, baffled horror on the faces of the wait staff. I had forgotten a cardinal rule: nobody eats dinner in Paris before 8 pm.  Pas de problème! More time for drinking!  We headed out for more beer and wine to wait for the magic dinner hour and later that night found ourselves in a lovely little Italian place with to-die-for handmade pasta. 

The next day, we explored Paris on foot.  The rain had cleared, and our cute little hotel, L’Hôtel des Saints-Pères, was well located in St. Germain, which put us close to the Seine, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Quartier Latin and an easy walk to three of Paris’s breathtaking gardens: Le Jardin des Tuileries, Le Jardin du Luxembourg and Jardin des Plantes.  We started the day with croissants and coffee from one of the many bustling boulangeries and from there, crisscrossed all through central Paris’s sights, stopping for baguette sandwiches at lunch.  Feeling spunky, we decided to do a walking tour from one of our guidebooks through Le Quartier Latin. It seemed like a cheesy (excuse me, fromagey) thing to do at first, but it led us to some sites we might not have seen otherwise.  Like the Paris Mosque.  And the Roman amphitheater where old men now play petanque.

Knowing we shouldn’t dare try to eat dinner before 8 pm or risk being deported, we grabbed some yummy cheese, a crusty baguette and a bottle of wine and headed to our hotel to rejuvenate before dinner.  The French might be onto something here. That night, we had boeuf bourguigon at a so-so restaurant, but well, it’s Paris so even so-so beats the pants off Applebee’s.  We vowed to do some research and find something amazing for our last night in Paris.

Our second full day in Paris, we woke up at the bright hour of 11 am and wandered out for croissants and coffee.  I had been itching to see the Ancient Egyptian art at the Louvre and Josh was kind enough to indulge me.  The Louvre boasts being one of the largest, if not THE largest art museum in the world.  It not only houses an incredible collection of art (including superstars like the Mona Lisa), it is also an opulent palace.  Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.  That night, we dined at Le Bistrot D’Henri.  This place was the real deal.  From pâté, to veal with butter noodles, to the chocolate mousse…I could eat that meal a million times over.

Satisfied that we had eaten and walked our way through as much of Paris as possible over the course of a few short days, we headed back to London that Thursday. Back in London, Bri treated me to a night out at the Book of Mormon. We laughed our asses off and then met up with the boys later on. They had been out drinking with Sam's friends, but failed to remember to eat until 10 pm.  They were a bit of a mess.

The next day, we boarded a train for Bath.  Sam and Bri are the perfect travel partners.  Our itinerary in Bath generally consisted of the following:

Beer

Food

A little walking

More food

Sleep

Food

A little sightseeing

Beer

Food

Beer

A little walking

Wine

Food

Sleep

Food

A little walking

Beer

Food

Beer

Back to London

I could not have put together a better itinerary myself.  We ate at incredible restaurants including the Marlborough Tavern and Rustico Bistro.  

Despite all of the eating and drinking, we did get to see some of Bath’s highlights including the Fashion Museum, the Bath Abbey bell tower, and the Roman Baths. 

I may or may not have gotten a little tipsy on the last night and started a cheerful diatribe about crumpets and Corgis before passing out in bed with my wig on.  (One step closer to Parisian bedhead!)  Good food in my belly, uninterrupted time with my sweet husband, the warmth and love of being with friends: I had officially reached off-the-charts happiness.

Our last full day in London, we headed out to see some of the sights and met up with my friend, Gina, and her adorable daughter, Valentina at the White Horse. Gina has always been one of my most favorite people on this planet so it was great to see her.  She was fun and irreverent as usual, and I also got to tick off another food item on my British bingo card: bangers and mash.  That night, we ate yet another mind-blowing meal at Aphrodite Taverna.  Sam and Bri really know how to pick ‘em.

By the time we boarded our plane to Seattle, the rest, walking and eating had restored me to the person I was before chemo started.  It was just me, my old self.  It was so nice to take a week off from chemo to remind me why I’m doing all of this in the first place: so I can stick around and keep living this great life.  I was joined at the hip with my husband for nearly the entire trip, and I only wanted more time with him.  It was wonderful to see our friends and I can’t wait to see them again, whichever side of the earth. 

Since the trip, I had two more rounds of the Taxol cocktail and last Friday, I started on the AC chemo regimen.  Josh came with me and supported me as we journeyed into this leg of the cancer fight.  Afterward, we headed to Paddy Coyne’s for dinner.  Standing outside was none other than the owner of Paddy Coyne’s who also owned the Irish Emigrant.  I sidled up to him and thanked him – without the Irish Emigrant I wouldn’t have met my husband.  The ruddy-faced Irishman smoking a cigarette outside of Paddy Coyne’s was oddly responsible for the life I have – Josh is my best friend, father to my children, and now my caregiver.  I feel like the Irishman's presence that night was a reminder that forces far greater than I can comprehend are at work.  Hundreds of hands have been helping me through all along – my family, my friends, my friends’ friends, total strangers: some visible, some invisible, all have helped to weave my destiny, as each of our destinies have been woven.  My side of the bargain? To honor the forces that have shaped this life by keeping this life going. As I head into these dark few weeks, I am determined to emerge again at the other side stronger.  And more grateful.