June 16 -- You can't always get what you want, But if you try sometime, you get what you need. Leslie and I each have had our Rolling Stones experience in the past few days.

I was due to fly to Sao Paulo for a conference on Monday; our friend Katie (the girls' second mom) came up from Tennessee with her daughter to take over my role as caregiver, gatekeeper, bouncer and waiter. I showed up at O'Hare Airport to check in, and the gate agent leafed through my passport and said, "where is your Brazilian visa." My...what? Despite having visited Brazil about 8 years ago, I totally forgot about that (nothing else on my mind, obviously).

I set my Brazilian colleagues to calling in favors toward expediting a visa in under 24 hours (3-5 days is standard). The call that I could come in and get an immediate visa came around 1:00 on Tuesday; from there, it was a race against the clock to make the last connecting flight at 4:10. For both Leslie and me, this race exemplified the true meaning of "ambivalence" -- feeling strongly both ways. I/we wanted me to make the flight because seeing new programs and meeting new people are so central to my work; we wanted me to miss the flight because I'd then be home to accompany her to the doctor's appointment where she would get pathology and forward plans.

10 minutes. Had the consular agent taken the 15 minutes he promised instead of 40 minutes; had the traffic been a little lighter on the Kennedy; had the American Airlines ticket agent been a little more decisive, I'd be 6000 miles south today.

But, you get what you need, and I am incredibly grateful in retrospect that all those Stones lay in the road.

Having deeply buried the lead, we had our post-op session with the doctor yesterday to get the pathology and way forward.

They are confident that all the tumors were uterine cancer; there is no ovarian cancer, but the metastases are "acting" like ovarian cancer metastases would. As a result, the doctor wants to take a very aggressive approach that is perhaps more similar to what they'd do for an ovarian cancer.

Starting in mid-July, Leslie will begin six rounds of three-week cycles of chemo. On day 1, she'll spend a full day getting intravenous and intraperitoneal infusions of two different drugs. On day 8, she'll get a second round of one of the drugs, intraperitoneally. On day 9, she'll get a white blood cell booster, that she can likely administer herself at home. Week three is a rest and recovery week, and then the dance begins again.

The wonderful chemo nurse who walked us through the process said the first several rounds are pretty bad, but that people begin to rally and feel better in the later rounds. The side effects are pretty much what one always hears about -- nausea (offset by three different anti-nausea drugs), hair loss, long-bone pain, loss of interest in Sarah Palin. (Just checking that you're still reading.)

Not what we wanted, certainly, but what she needs.

In other ways, we have surely gotten what we want and what we need. We are beyond grateful for the response of our friends, family, and Leslie's Lab School family. Some of you may have read the New York Times article about what to say and what not to say to someone with a serious illness. For the most part, it is on-target; our biggest disagreement is that we have cherished every "thinking of you" just as much as the visits, meals, flowers and books. Clearly, we will continue to need your encouraging "karma rockets" from now through the fall.


Leslie is feeling better every day post-surgery, and is planning a trip to Rhode Island for just pre-chemo. She's walking daily, up to a mile at a time, and pestered her doctor to connect with her personal trainer to work out an exercise plan. Her plan is to go into chemo in as strong shape as possible -- physically and mentally. For those who say, "you're a trouper" (or trooper) Leslie responds, "it beats all the alternatives." Rest assured, though, that if down days come, I'm ready and willing to be her human "Bobo doll."