Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 4.3, Onward!

I looked at my feet this morning and realized that they look like they did pre-chemo. Which makes sense because in the past two weeks — since the ham feet crisis — I’ve lost 19 pounds of water from my legs. Between the extra vacation (the week my chemo was cancelled), the extra steroids, and the extra peeing that I’ve been doing, I’m feeling pretty good! Even the dreaded scrounge of the red rash seems to be diminished.

Yesterday, the Oncologist decided I would continue on and complete the last two cycles of Gemma. This is fine with me, because even though Gemma is a heartless bitch who kills indiscriminately, she is still the accepted best choice for my particular cancer battle. And I have my new tools and knowledge to use to try to mitigate her savagery.

imageWe’re having a beautiful day today with lots of sun and no rain for a change. Partying at the Chemo Cafe with me today is my good pal, Sharon. Lunch was at my favorite tavern, Doubleday’s (as per my normal chemo brain, I forgot to take photos of the food). Best burgers in town!

imageSharon is a farmer. She comes from a family of farmers. We’ve been talking about hay. While she does duty here with me, someone mowing hay for her. And we’re sending out lots of positive energy that the rain holds off until the weekend, because it takes four days to cut, dry, turn, and bail hay successfully. The things you can learn while getting poison pumped into your body at the Chemo Cafe!

Sharon hibiscus And she knows about gardening — her family had a successful greenhouse business. So imagine my pride when she told me how beautiful my hibiscus was looking!

Im not only hoping for happy hay results. I’m hoping that the week of the ham feet was my last absolute low point. I’m hoping that my side effect symptoms will be milder this week because of the help I’ll get from the steroids and lasix. I’m hoping that next week — chemo vacation week — I’ll be feeling well enough to work out in my garden pulling weeds (never gonna take that simple pleasure for granted ever again). And I’m hoping that these last two cycles of treatment — the next eight weeks — goes quickly and relatively fuss-free. No whining. No ham feet.

I’ve got lots of hopes.

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 4.2 (part deux), Back in my Shoes!

Here I sit, once again ready to have toxic poison pumped into my body. Ah! The joys of Chemo Day! Today, my worthy partner is my pal Cindy. We had a wonderful lunch at a local ‘Burg sports bar, C.J. Chumps, where the patio is shaded and the food is fabulous! We’ve been discussing hitting the local Dairy Queen on the way home for mini-sized Blizzards. Ummmm! Ice Cream!

Actually, my chemo treatments are also under discussion. You may remember that last week my chemo was cancelled because the edema in my legs had caused my feet to swell to the size of small hams. american horror storyCoupled with the very bright red rash covering my legs, my gams were a sight right out of American Horror Story which properly freaked out anyone who saw them including my favorite Chemo Nurse Jenna who notified my oncologist who cancelled my chemo for the day. (And isn’t that a lovely run-on sentence.)

Last Tuesday I left the Chemo Cafe with two new prescriptions. I now have a prescription for lasix to help with my water retention. I also have a prescription fora corticosteroid (Dexamethasone) — which should help with both the water retention and the red rash. I’ve also got a steroid cream (Clobetasol) for the red rash. And lastly, I’ve got better knowledge on what to expect over the next few days and how to mitigate the issues.

My feet are in the air like I just don't care (actually, I seem to care a lot about my ham feet...)

My feet are in the air like I just don’t care (actually, I seem to care a lot about my ham feet…)

I’ve spent the past week taking my new meds, wearing my compression stockings from the time I get out of bed until the time I crawl back into bed, smearing the steroid cream on the red rash when I’m not wearing the compression stockings, taking every opportunity to recline with my feet over my head (OK, I really mean higher than my heart), and cutting back a little on my water intake (yes, I may have been drinking too much water — but only because some of the instructions I’ve received encouraged me to try and drink more than 64-ounces daily). The result? I’ve done a lot (seriously, A LOT) of peeing, which has made for a 6-day weight loss of 12 pounds.

Ham Foot (before)

Ham Foot (before)

Not a pretty picture

Not a pretty picture

I appear to be at a cross-roads of sorts. I’m receiving treatment today (technically, the second of three treatments for Cycle 4). Then on Monday, my Oncologist will take a look at how bad my side-effect symptoms are (water retention, bright red rash, hemoglobin count, shortness of breath), and we’ll decide whether I can continue on Gemzar (7 treatments / 2 cycles left), move to a pill form of a different chemo, or quit chemo all together.

I have mixed emotions. I’m really ready — I mean REALLY READY — for the whole chemo battle to be finished. Each Chemo Day, I am more and more resistant to the idea of Gemma as my alley in this fight. She’s a wicked bitch who doesn’t care which cells she kills. And she’s really messing up my life. Sucking down this toxic cocktail has become one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. But the hope of Gemma giving me a few extra years of life is like a designer drug of bliss — sweet and addicting. I want the best possible chance to beat this stupid monster that’s tried to take over my life. I want to absolutely crush this stupid cancer and eject it from my body.

This morning, I had a “foot moment.” There is approximately an hour in the morning — from around 8:30 to 9:30 — when the trees around our yard block the sun from shining full on our patio. It’s one of my favorite times of the day. I am enchanted with the way the light is shady and yet dappled with splashy spots of bright sunny pools of light. And I can sit on the patio, enjoy the birds’ songs, and not worry about putting on sun screen.

A more  normal sized foot (after)

A more normal sized foot (after)

Today, my enchantment was multiplied ten-fold when I noticed that the veins in my feet were actually standing out, ribboned above the level of my skin. I haven’t seen the veins in my feet standing at attention like this for probably 10 weeks, because of the swelling. The meds, the stockings, the feet elevation, the cream, and limiting myself to 64-ounces of water instead of trying to do 90 — this system seems to work.

I can’t help but feel that I have a better chance at dealing with my side effects this week because I have better tools and more knowledge. I don’t want ham feet. Watching my hair get thinner was nothing compared to seeing my feet swell up to the point that I couldn’t get my shoes on. This morning, seeing my feet closer to their normal size and shape was like a benediction. Do I continue the battle with my chemo War General, Gemma? Or do we adjust to a new plan? I’ll find out on Monday…

A big THANK YOU to my friend Karen for sending me a box of Killer Brownies to cheer me up. She was successful in her endeavor. They were delicious!

A big THANK YOU to my friend Karen for sending me a box of Killer Brownies to cheer me up. She was successful in her endeavor. They were delicious! Click my photo to check out Karen’s brilliant Cat Scouts web site.

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 4.2 (part 1), Ham Feet

A funny thing happened yesterday. I was getting ready to meet my friend Pat for lunch, and I couldn’t get my shoes on.

I haven’t been anywhere since last Tuesday, so I’ve been padding around the house in soft slippers or stocking-footed. Surprise! My feet — especially my left foot — have swollen to the point that my shoes will not comfortably go on.

This made for not just a frustrating moment, but also a wet moment because (I’ll admit it here) I cried. My feet looked like giant hams. They still do.

And the Scrounge of the Red Rash is still rearing its ugly head. From my knees down I look like I’ve been selectively parboiled. Between the rash and the swelling, my poor feet are very tender to the touch. I cannot put on my compression stockings because it hurts so much.

With the Red Rash so active today, I decided to try out the steroid cream that my Dermatologist prescribed. I think it’s reducing the burning feeling. After having it on for an hour, there seemed to be a positive difference. It’s reassuring that it works because this stuff is EX. PEN. SIVE. I did the math. It comes in a 60 gram tube. I paid $50. My insurance picked up the rest…$397.99. It costs $447.99 a tube!! Sixty grams is 2.112 ounces making this cream $212.12 an ounce! My head is spinning!! Thank goodness the guidelines say to put it on in a thin layer. Per application(twice a day), it’s probably costing $10 per leg.

The Chemo Cafe is busy today — only a couple of empty seats. With me is my pal Shelley. We didn’t do lunch today. Instead we hit a couple of stores for some quick shopping. Chemo Nurse Jenna took note of my swollen, red-rashed legs. She was so impressed that she contacted my Oncologist, who decided that we would forego chemo today and try to get some of the swelling down.

So instead of chemo, I’m getting Furosemide — which is a diuretic also known as Lasix used to treat fluid retention (AKA edema). I’ll take the first pill as soon as I get home so I’ll probably be up peeing most of the night. Actually, if it reduces the size of my ham-feet it will be worth some lost sleep.

I’m also going to get some compression bandages and wrap my legs.

I’ll see the doctor on Thursday to learn how my chemo treatments will be adjusted.

I’m not sorry to have the chemo delayed. Walking has become uncomfortable. It would be good to clear some of this up before adding on more. So I’ll spend tonight and the next couple days on the sofa with my feet higher than my heart trying to help my water-logged legs to empty.

What am I doing for shoes? I have a pair of sandals that I got at the Ohio Renaissance Festival years ago that lace up allowing me to adjust their width. Usually I can wrap the straps twice around my ankles. Not now. Now it’s just a simple knot.

My feet are hams.

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 4.1, Back From Vacation and I got Attitude

It’s been a long day and I’m late posting this because my day ended with dinner with my old team mates from Consumer Care. I am again amazed and humbled by the friendship and strength these women offer me.

6-30-15 team dinner

Last week, Gemma opened a big old can of whoop ass on me. I guess I should have been expecting it, because the previous week (my week of whining) was, to say the least, difficult. I’m not going to go into great detail about this, because I’m trying to remain positive. But I will say that I’m a little pissed off at that bitch Gemma for cutting into my vacation time.

Because I was two days late getting my last treatment (Thursday instead of Tuesday), the after effects were two days late (Sunday instead of Friday). And I think this was the worst case of treatment side effects I’ve yet experienced. My muscles ached like I had extreme flu. My appetite was totally AWOL. And I was so tired! I slept for most of the day on Sunday and Monday — and was tired enough to sleep all night, too. It was Thursday before I felt human again. Instead of having a week of Chemo Vacation, Gemma allowed me only four days.

Between Gemma and the extra rain we’ve had all week, I STILL have 2 flats of marigolds and 4 pots of zinnias to put in to the front flower beds (but first they need to be weeded). The one thing I managed to accomplish was to weed whack the grass around our patio — I think the grass had actually grown taller than Tyler’s legs, and he was really giving me some dirty looks when I urged him to “Go potty!”

But now, the good news!

Today is my 10th chemo treatment. That means only 8 more left to do! Ten and a half weeks left until I’m done! I think I’m going to put some kind of count-down widget on the side of the blog.

Results of last week’s CT scan confirm that I’m tumor-free!

Also, according to the American Cancer Society, “CA 19-9 is a substance often released into the blood by exocrine pancreatic cancer cells…” Though not conclusive, knowing CA 19-9 levels can indicate whether treatment is working as expected. Normal levels are <38. I had a pre-surgery level of 88. After surgery it went to 12. It’s now down to 9. Gemma may be a bitch, but she’s working her mojo!

(Moving forward, these will be our measuring sticks regarding Siggy. CT scans every 6 months, CA 19-9 tests every 3 to 4 months.)

My Dermatologist has confirmed that the Scrounge of the Red Rash is actually a side effect of Gemma, and I now have a cream to use against it. Which is  a good thing because the rash has expanded from my left shin to include my inside knee, calf, and duplicated spots on my right leg. It’s like I’m sunburned on selected areas of my legs.

My left foot and ankle are really swollen — so much so that I can no longer wear my favorite shoes (I guess I could wear one of them on my right foot, but that might look funny with my Viking helmet). But my Oncologist is not worried that I’m retaining water. So I’m not going to worry either. I’ll just pull on my compression stockings and pretend that they don’t make me feel like an old woman.

Today, my Chemo Cafe partner is my most wonderful cousin, Annie Lee. We went to Flavors for lunch (see also previous post) — I’m really liking this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant!

6-30-15 Annie and Bev

We had a great time at the Chemo Cafe! I always take my iPad with me so I can at least start my “Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair” post, but today all we did was talk and laugh! We had a great conversation about attitude with one of the volunteers, Sandy. She told us her cancer story — and it’s worth a brief repeat here.

Sandy had just reached her Weight Watchers goal weight, when she discovered she could eat anything without gaining any weight. Imagine that! She was stuffing herself and not gaining an ounce (first red flag)! Then she noticed a lump under her arm (second red flag). Her doctor took a look and thought it might be her lymph nodes working overtime because it was allergy season. But the lump didn’t go away (third red flag), so the doctor arranged for a biopsy. She was in Stage IV Lymphoma.

At first, Sandy was in denial. Her denial turned into anger — at the cancer, at the Oncologist, at anyone who questioned whether she could walk down the hallway to her bedroom without help because her red blood cell count was so low that her strength was sapped. As she found her way through her anger, it morphed into an attitude that she used to fight her way kicking and screaming to remission. She still has two years to go before she can be considered cancer-free, but she’s coming back from cancer that had spread throughout her body! This is amazing!

My take-away from Sandy’s story? When dealing with cancer, whether patient or care-giver, one of our most productive tools in the cancer-fighting toolbox is attitude. Whether it’s anger or humor, faith or enlightenment — anything except giving up and giving in. Find your attitude knowing that for most of us, cancer today is more like a chronic condition than the end of the line.

That being said, there are people out there facing cancer with no hope of remission. Attitude is still important. It gives you the strength to do what must be done.

Six years ago, my Uncle Oliver was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. Radiation and chemo treatments would have marginally increased his life span, but at an extreme sacrifice of his quality of his life. I was his care giver. He told me, “What I want, is to be clean and comfortable.” This became his litany. He made the decision to enter hospice care. This was not giving up. It was making his wishes known. And that became my mission for the short time he had left with us. His wish, shared with me, gave us both the attitude and direction which led to the strength to make it through his departure from this world.

Whether it’s cancer or some other big thing in your life, it’s all about the attitude. Don’t give up and surrender. Find your attitude, find your path.

And when you need an attitude power boost, don’t hesitate to plug in to your friends (and family).  Continue reading

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 3.3, Transfusion City

For the second time this week, I’m at the Chemo Cafe. And we’re at the half-way point for my treatments! Nine down! Nine to go!

Live blogging from the chemo chair.

Live blogging from the chemo chair.

In case you missed the excitement on Tuesday, my blood count was so low that Nurse Janna was unable to give me my chemo cocktail. Instead, she arranged for me to indulge in chemo’s version of a Bloody Mary: a blood transfusion.

Yep. That's a bag of blood.

Yep. That’s a bag of blood.

I got two units of blood yesterday morning, and today I feel like a million bucks!

Bless her! Cindy stuck with me for the entire 4 hours it took for the transfussion.

Bless her! Cindy stuck with me for the entire 4 hours it took for the transfusion.

(Lest we loose track of my ongoing Chemo Restaurant Tour, after my pair of Bloody Marys, Cindy and I went and had pancakes at The Golden Nugget. Mine were buttermilk and I ate every bite.)

Yum!

Yum!

This is the first time I’ve ever had a transfusion, and there is something just a little disturbing about having two bags of blood pumped into me. You hear so many stories about people contracting any number of incurrable diseases or having allergic reactions because of blood transfusions. It can’t help but make you pause to ask, “Is this really necessary?” Well, yeah, it is. Gemma Chemo is an indiscrimminate killer, and while she’s bombing Siggy, she’s been nuking my red blood cells to the point where I was not able to walk across the room without feeling out-of-breath. So, get over the feeling of weirdness, and be grateful for the miracle  of modern science that allows the nurse to pump me up with blood.

Blood traveling down the tube connecting me to the blood bag.

Blood traveling down the tube connecting the blood bag to me.

The process of getting a blood transfusion is complicated, for your protection. First the lab draws blood to make sure of your blood type. Then they put a hospital bracelet on you which has a code number on it to “unlock the blood bank.” You cannot remove the bracelet — it must be attached to your wrist when you present yourself for the transfusion (I had to wear that stupid bracelet overnight). The bag of blood is secured within another bag, and kept in cold storage until needed (and it felt cold going into my body). To access the bag of blood, the code number from the hospital bracelet is dialed into a “lock” that covers the opening of the outer bag. This is done under the watchful eyes of two nurses. The nurses then double check patient’s name, birthdate, blood type, doner number, lot number and I-don’t-remember-what-else to make sure that the blood they’re about to put into the patient is the right stuff. So much checking, double-checking, and security is a good thing, but it reinforced my anxiety about how many things could go wrong when another person’s blood was pumped into me. But….it’s necessary, so get over it. Be grateful for the miracle that allows the nurse to pump me up with blood.

And let me also add, “Thank you!” to the two nice people who oh-so-generously donated their blood. And once I’m past all this nonsense, I will replace the blood I was given — with interest. I am very grateful!!

Moving on.

Lunch today was at a little hole-in-the-wall place called Flavors Eatery. It was excellent! I had a Steak Wrap-A-Rito which was a flour tortilla filled with steak, beans, rice, and the delicious house apple-veggie slaw. Cindy had veggie pizza — the pizza crust was a folded flour tortilla, baked until the edges were crispy. Delish!!

Today, I made sure I didn’t sit in a cursed chair (I asked the Chemo Nurses before I sat down). My port played nice, the steroids and chemicals were pumped into me without incident, and we even finished up early.

Tomorrow, I should be bouncing off the walls and ceiling with energy due to today’s influx of steroids and yesterday’s influx of blood. Which is really good because last weekend we bought two flats of marigolds and a flat of zinnias for the garden. I’ve been a little worried about how I was going to get them into the ground. Guess that was a needless concern.

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 3.3, My Chair is Cursed!

With me today is my wonderful and patient friend, Cindy.

For 10 points, can anyone in the studio audience tell me what's wrong with this picture?

For 10 points, can anyone in the studio audience tell me what’s out-of-place in this picture?

Chemo Day started with a lovely adventure to the new Whole Paycheck — oops, I mean Whole Foods. This is Dayton’s first Whole Foods, opening just a few weeks ago. It’s a beautiful store, with great ambiance and a very customer-oriented staff. It will be good for items that can only be found at Whole Foods, but for mundane groceries it’s too pricey for my tastes.

Next door is another new-to-Dayton store, Pet People. I am too cynical to not laugh at the very young store clerk as he rattled off how there are no ingredients from China in the pet food they sell — so I kept walking (laughing to myself) and let him give his little speech to Cindy (she’s more polite then I am).

Lunch was barside at one of my favorite taverns, Doubleday’s.  It would have been even better if I could have had a beer, but that’s not such a good idea on Chemo Day. Of course, once again I forgot to take a food photo. This seems to be a pattern for me.

When we got to the Chemo Cafe, I picked a chair in an area I’ve never sat in before. Nurse Janna got my port hooked up and we had the first indication that my chair was cursed: my port was clogged and would not allow her to draw my blood for testing. This happens from time-to-time. So Nurse Janna got out the Drano (in reality a low amount of clot-buster medicine, the same as they use for people with strokes). This was pumped into the port (not into my blood vein) to dissolve the blockage. While we waited for the Drano to work, a lab tech pulled a testing sample of my blood the “normal” way by sticking my forearm.

Drano2small

(It’s important to point out that the lady in the chair next to me also had the same problem with her port and one of the chemo nurses piped up with “Yeah, we think those chairs are cursed because there’s been issues with the people sitting in them all day long.” Would it have been too much to put a ‘Don’t sit here, chair cursed’ sign on the chair?)

After an hour, the blockage in my port was cleared, but we got the second indication that my chair was cursed: my hemoglobin level is so low that the doctor wants me to get a transfusion. (So the joke I made about not having any blood when Nurse Jenna couldn’t get it to come out of the port was maybe not such a joke.)

Chemo kills blood cells along with cancer cells, so needing a transfusion is not unusual, and explains why I’ve been feeling so melting-into-the-floor tired all week.

Low blood count also means that today’s chemo cocktail has been re-scheduled to Thursday.

The third indication that my chair was cursed: I’m scheduled to get two units of blood tomorrow at 7. In the morning. Because that was the only appointment open. And it will take four hours.

Also, because the Scourge of the Red Rash is still with me (water retention in the left leg, red rash), I’ll be given lasix between the units of blood. So during the two hours it takes for the second unit of blood to pass into my vein, I’ll be making multiple visits to the bathroom to pee (fourth indication of a cursed chair). Not looking forward to that at all.

There are two blessings to this chair curse:

1. Cindy (such a wonderful friend!) is able (and willing!) to be my driver for the transfusion (I can’t drive myself), and for the re-scheduled Thursday Chemo Cafe visit.

2. Between the transfusion and the chemo cocktail steroids, I’m going to be so buzzed with energy on Friday that I will probably get all my garden beds weeded and the three flats of marigolds sitting on my front porch transplanted by lunch leaving me the rest of the day to thoroughly clean the house and do the grocery shopping for next week.

Is it any wonder that I’m looking forward to chemo vacation next week?

Live Blogging from the Chemo Chair: Cycle 3.2, A Big Glass of Whine

This has been a whiny week. And I’m about to whine some more. Or rant. Can’t be helped.

Thank you to Penn State's Applied Social Psychology blog.

(Thank you to Penn State’s Applied Social Psychology blog.)

First, with me today is the lovely and charming Shelley. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that my wonderful Shelley is a 6-year breast cancer survivor — so she’s like my lucky talisman. She has given me amazing support all through this battle I’m fighting, from the very first day. It’s a joy to spend time with Shelley because she’s such a positive person. And today I find I need some positivity.

Shelley and Bev

Spoiler alert: I’m about to have a pity party.

I’m tired. I’ve been tired all week. I feel like I was cheated out of last week’s steroid buzz because it wasn’t really there on Wednesday. I had half a day of energy, then I crashed and burned. All I want to do is nap. I’ve slept the week away. I’m like a zombie, except instead of “Brains!” I’m moaning “Snooze!”

And don’t get me started on the hot flashes. I thought I was past all that menopausal nonsense, but apparently I was wrong. Three or four times a day, I get over-heated, sweat dripping from my hair. I’ll think to myself, “The air conditioner must not be on.” But it is. Set low enough that my mom is using a blanket. And Tyler is snuggled up to her as close as he can get because he’s cold. And I’m dripping sweat.

So, between feeling tired and sweating like a pig, this past week has been uncomfortable. And annoying.

I measure my days in what I get done. Weed the garden. Pay the bills. Change the filter in the furnace. Buy groceries. Take Tyler to the vet. Write a blog article. Prior to old Siggy taking over my life, I could do all of these things — and more — in one day. Now, I feel triumphant if I can get just one thing done each day.

A huge shout-out needs to be given to all the people (like my pal Shelley) who hold down a full-time job while they do chemo — how do they do it? I mistakenly thought I’d have no problem working (or simply getting my business off the ground) while I did chemo. No. Not happening. So now I feel like my professional life is slipping through my fingers like a Player slipping out the back door after a one night stand.

My job as a social media expert in the pet industry officially ended in early May. I’ve held a job since I finished my undergraduate degree (back in the olden days). Unemployment feels weird, and I’m not ready to embrace being a retiree. It’s time to reinvent myself for Act III of my life.

From my coloring book.

But lately, all I want to do is nap. Or color in my adult coloring books. Or read trashy vampire/werewolf novels.

What I'm currently reading -- This is an excellent series if you're into werewolves.

What I’m currently reading — This is an excellent series if you’re into werewolves.

If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been slacking since my surgery in early February. And I worry that I’ll never get back to the discipline of regular employment.

I keep telling myself that I’ll write my new business plan tomorrow. I’ll put together PowerPoint slides to entice a new client tomorrow. I’ll read all those expert social media articles tomorrow. Anybody seeing a pattern here?

Which brings me back to my time today with Shelley. She’s been pointing out to me that I’m allowed to be tired and do frivolous things (few things are more frivolous then coloring or reading werewolf novels), because I’m going through an intense treatment plan. As of today, I’ve had a total of 8 chemo treatments in 10 weeks. Even though Gemma Chemo is an ally in my Siggy battle, she’s still a poisonous bitch and she doesn’t care that she’s destroying healthy cells alongside the cancer cells. So of course I’m going to be feeling tired (and maybe a little depressed) because my blood count is down. There will still be time for me to build my social media business, after I re-build my red blood cell count. The point of the chemo treatments is to give me more time for my Act III.

Regina Brett, another cancer survivor, summed it up:

Going through chemo is like investing money in a retirement account. You feel the hit right now, but later in life you get to reap the benefits – by still being alive.

Regina is spot on. And everyone needs a Shelley in their life. Thank you, Shelley, for talking me down off the ledge today. 

I’m officially ending the pity party and making this a No-Whine Zone.

You can buy this magnet at CafePress. Click the image to take you there.

You can buy this magnet at CafePress. Click the image to take you there.