[Andrea Barnett Budin]

This tale is nebulous. Perhaps more harrowing than embarrassing. Perhaps not. I was midst my first chemo. Bald of course, and dragging my butt. But we'd had a major snowstorm. We lived on a big, steep hill and had a circular driveway plus a regular driveway (on ground level so to speak) that ran all the way back to the garage that was tucked under the master bedroom. It's '95. The plow man didn't show. No surprise. I kept calling. Leaving messages. I did not want Paul (who'd had a heart attack in '85) to come home and shovel! And I knew from living in Dix Hills for 29 yrs that if you didn't get down to the blacktop driveway w/the first snow, managing to get to the mailbox or the spot where the garbage pails had to be left (at the bottom of our HILL AND HALF) was a seriously dangerous mission!

So midst Adriamycin and CMF, I put on a secure scarf hat over my bald head (leaving my wig hanging on a hair spray bottle in the house). I shoveled -- downhill -- making two lines for car tires to travel easily, and for anyone to use to walk up or down. I cleared a path over the two railroad tie steps and the brown brick front porch area, allowing anyone to make it safely from a tire track to the front door. THEN, I got out one of my multiple (collected) snow salt bags and, w/gloves, covered every spot I'd shoveled. Yes, I was panting, but the knowledge that Paul's father had died at the age of 47 from heart disease -- and shoveling snow! -- kept me motivated.

I went in, freshened up, put on my wig, my mandatory earrings of the day and waited by the front door (inside) for Paul to drive up to the top of the hill to pick me up -- so we could go out for dinner. I thought I looked pretty good for a person who'd just been dx w/4th stage bc, had a mastec and was making my way through shock and awe chemo. My silky terrier (Jezebel) waited by my side. Finally, Paul arrived. I threw my coat and glasses on and stepped outside. When I got to the first step I had my first encounter with BLACK ICE! I skidded and slid, both my feet went up into the air as I slipped right off that step. I came crashing down and got a karate chop (just like in the movies!) to the back of my neck by that icy railroad tie. I was literally stunned. Paul rushed to my side, My poor baby! My arms were frozen up above me and I could not speak. I told my arms to move down. They did not stir. Finally, garbled, thick-tongued words, I groaned, NO... I'M NOT... The sound of my voice scared the heck out of me. I was talking like a drunk! Paul helped me up to a sitting position.

Here's the funniest part of this story. I noted that Paul was holding something in his hands, at my eye level, as I was seated, and I was trying to make it all out. I had fallen w/such force, Paul had gallantly retrieved my -- wig, my earrings and my glasses, which had flown off my head with the jolt! All I could think was how lucky I was that I wasn't in a public place for all to see what happened to this poor bald-headed woman. It was like the final insult. But I could have been utterly mortified. From then on I wore a long scarf wrapped around my head and wig, tied under my chin. The vision of a bald woman chasing her windswept wig down the street haunted me for a good year. Each time I'd catch up to the bouncing wig, it'd fly ahead just out of my reach. The image is quite funny. If the woman isn't YOU!

What do you want to do? Should I take you to the hospital? Paul was beside himself. I knew I could have had a concussion. I decided right then and there NO MORE HOSPITALS! I will stubbornly and simply *survive* it all -- the ca, getting knocked unconscious for a few seconds, et al. I just wanted to crawl (safely) into the house and get into bed. Paul followed me, carring the *items* in for me...

That's my harrowing tale, which for some reason I associate w/embarrassing moments. Of course, I have lots more... Who doesn't???
Andi