Another Day, Another Victory

Week 30:   Yea, baby! Another one bites the dust. Finished my Day 15 toxins today. Cycle 4 is history. The infusion seemed to take forever because I was restless. I have to take "anti-allergic reaction" medicine and it wires me out. But now I'm free...no toxins next week! My chemo appointment will be replaced by a visit to the onco to check in and see how things are going. Rumor is, it'll be judgment day in terms of whether or not I need to continue with more treatment. We'll see how well it's working and go from there. I know it seems odd - even contradictory - to say this, but somehow despite the outward signs of the pounding my body is taking, I feel "strong" on the inside. I feel like my organs are handling the poison pretty well. As long as all of my parts are cleansed, I'll be happy. We shall see.

Purple Puff-n-Stuffed

Week 29: This week I'm battered but not beaten, so I soldier on. I was feeling pretty good until I had my Day 8 of Cycle 4 chemo last week. Imagine that. Now suffice it to say that besides feeling sick in general, I'm as bloated as a submarine sandwich, and I'm so bruised I look like I was flogged with a stick of nails and a bicycle chain. My body needs a break, but I'll have to get through this cycle first.

If my blood work comes back okay when I go in for testing tomorrow, I'll have my 12th infusion this week and get a day off next week! That should work well since it'll be Stephanie's last week of school. Then it's off to Kings Dominion for a day of thrills and spills, and hopefully no vomit, followed by a trip to the beach. Everyone else will be staying for a week or more, but I'll have to come home early for my next injection. It's a little disappointing to have to cut it short. I don't think I've spent a full week at the beach since I was about twelve. At least I'll get a few days of R & R before hitting the needle again.

I'll let you know how things go.

I Did My Homework, Now Let's Party

Week 28: Had chemo today (Thurs). Day 1 of Cycle 4. I'm officially over the half-way hump with only 8 infusions and 10 weeks to go! Unfortunately, it took me this long to realize that the drugs I'm being given are dangerous. This is serious business. The nurse was going over the standard questions they ask me every time I go in for treatment when I noticed the warning on her laptop screen that read: HIGH ALERT. HIGHLY TOXIC. Beneath it was my Taxotere dosage listed at 60mg. Alarmed by this, I went home and double checked what I read previously about Taxotere -and then some. I realized that when I did my initial research about chemo, I only checked what the drugs were, how they worked, and what the side effects were. I never checked dosages. The high end of the dosing proposed by the manufacturer is 100mg per infusion followed by three weeks off, and that's when it's the only drug being administered. In comparison, I'm being given 60mg for three weeks with only one week off (plus I'm receiving platinum-based Carboplatin). That's down right scary and I have to question why my treatment is so aggressive. I suspected from the beginning that, although my onco doesn't have a crystal ball and therefore wouldn't admit it, he probably thinks there's a good chance a have cancer cells floating around my body that could metasize elsewhere. While I remain positive, I admit that I have a nagging sense that that's what my future holds. Having cancer a third time would be a harsh reality to face, and it only underscores the concept that one really should try to live life to the fullest. In fact, whatever your lot in life, there are a few things we should all keep in mind. My mother-in-law recently shared this in an email and I think it's befitting of our time here on on earth. Granted, I modified a few words to suit my tastes. Some of you may have read or heard something similar:           "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body; but rather, to skid in sideways with a margarita in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO," what a ride!" Lipservice doesn't count. Get out there! If I can be the lone adult taking beginner springboard diving lessons with a bunch of 6 and 7 year kids (while sporting a bald head that's still sunburned and peeling from my day in the sun on Mother's Day a week prior), I can do anything. And so can you.

Happy Mother's Day

Week 27: Just wanted to wish all of the moms out there a very special, "Happy Mother's Day." I woke to Stephanie bringing me a pint of strawberries on a tray for "breakfast in bed." It was very sweet and unexpected, especially for a 7-year old, and she did it all on her own. Too bad when she attempted to clean up, the leftover tops fell all over the bed and stained the sheets. I made fun of it and chuckled so she wouldn't feel bad. Spent the rest of my day relaxing and drinking champagne with my mother and sisters and clan. I also roasted in the sun. I do believe this is as burned as I've ever been. I guess the strength of the sun was deceiving given the mild temperature. So I learned my lesson early in the season. From now on, no more hanging out without sunscreen. I'm on my "week off" from chemo now and looking forward to some renewed vigor. Just in time for the springboard diving lessons I'm taking with Stephanie.

Six Months and Counting

Week 26: I can't believe six months have passed since I first watched the news segment about self breast exams and then found what I thought was a lump in my "good" breast. As we all know, it turned out to be nothing. Instead, I had a recurrence of cancer in my other breast that, ironically, would've gone undetected for who knows how long had it not been for the false alarm. Yep; a half a year has gone by and I've been living and breathing cancer on a daily basis. If it wasn't part of my identify before, it certainly is now. There's no denying cancer is my life. The sad part is that I'm not even half-way through my chemo. It will be at least another three months of treatment, and that's provided my body keeps pace and allows me to stay on track. Never mind that it'll be years before I get back to "normal" again. Just when I thought I was on the brink of being back in working order, this comes along.

Back are the days of being tired, sick, and weak. Think of having a hangover every day. Back are the whacked-out hormones, the miserable hot flashes and the cold sweats at night. My thermostat can't regulate itself. Back are the injections of Neupogen and the headaches and bruising that come from them. The nose bleeds continue to plague me although thankfully they seem to be on the decline. My hair has proven itself tenacious but more recently, my eye lashes have started falling out. (It's remarkable how much your eyes water naturally. You only notice when you don't have anything to hold it in.) My oncologist also put me on a prescription for Vitamin D. That's a new one. At least all these side effects keep things interesting. I can't wait to see what's next. On a lighter note, the infusion center was moved to a brand new suite in the hospital. Beautiful space. Everything is clean and new and improved. Even the IV carts are ergonomic. It's on the top floor of the office pavilion. Rather than brag that we're in the ivory tower, I believe I'll just dub it "the chemo tower." Those of us who walk through it's hallowed halls are fortunate. I say fortunate because we're reminded that we shouldn't take life for granted. It's a blessing.

When Will it Stop?

Week 25: Please help me stop crying. Mostly about Stephanie and how much I detest myself for the irreversible harm I'm doing to her. I wrote an email to Mrs Brewer, our school principal, this morning asking her to give S. a hug for me. The message went like this: "Hi Mrs Brewer. I have a big favor to ask you. This morning was one of those bad days. I'm home with tears streaming down my face because I lost my temper with Stephanie when we were getting ready for school. I was sick and she was, unfairly, the target of my lack of patience. She doesn't deserve to be burdened with my illness and I know I'm damaging her when I lash out. I want nothing else than for her to enjoy this glorious day and experience care-free fun like every child should. I told her I loved her and apologized to her when I dropped her off this morning, but I regret that I didn't get out of the car and embrace her to reinforce it. So that's the favor I need. Can you call her aside sometime today and tell her that I asked you to say, "your mommy asked me to remind you how much she loves you," and give her a big squeeze and a kiss for me? Kids are resilient they say, and maybe (hopefully) she won't think twice about my grief this morning, but it sure would make me feel better if she had a hug. None of this is her fault.

I'm working later and won't see her tonight so if you could help me, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you, Ann

Cindy Lou is Back in Action

Week 24: Yee-hah!!! Went to see my doctor, got a check-up and lab screening, and convinced him to let me keep going with chemo. I had my "Day 15" 2nd-cycle infusion during what would have been my week off because they wouldn't let me take it the week before. Rather than take my week off and delay starting the next "Day 1" 3rd-cycle, I begged the doctor to let me have chemo this week so that I can stay on schedule. Yippee! I'm scheduled for an infusion tomorrow, Fri Apr 24. The nurses think I'm nuts to be so excited about having chemo.

The only issue now is that my doctor wants to send me to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. My nose has been bleeding daily for weeks now. It stuffs up my sinuses and then I can't breathe freely at night, which in turn gives me a headache. To me, it's more of a nuisance than anything else but he wants me to try getting it fixed.

I think my first bout with cancer must have helped build-up a resistance to losing my hair. It's still falling out, but it's been very gradual. My mini-mohawk has thinned out; only few wisps left. I think when I go to teach dog training tonight, I'll have one of the groomers put a little bow in it.  If a Shih-Tzu can have one, why can't I? So what if I look like Cindy Lou Who? We can all use a good laugh.

Turned Away

Week 24: I'm really bummed out. They turned me down last week for chemo because my white cell blood count was too low. I have to delay my next infusion for a few days, go back for follow-up lab work, and start injecting myself with Neupogen for the rest of my treatment. Dang it. I thought I'd slip past having those nasty shots this time around.

My Nurse and My Mohawk

Week 23: This week I discovered another downside to getting treatment at the hospital instead of at my oncologist's office. My infusion took 5 hours instead of the usual 3-1/2. Way too long to sit still. Apparently they do all types of infusions at the same department, not just chemotherapy infusions. When I arrived for my appointment, I was told that they had to give an emergency blood transfusion to another patient, who happened to be in my seat. So I had to wait about a 1/2 hour before another chair was freed-up. That's how my day started. It was hit-or-miss after that in terms of my nurse focusing her attention on moi. My nurse is named Nam, and she's a petite, spunky woman with a wonderful Chinese accent who works her derriere off. Nam was very busy that day, and she was training another nurse on top of that, so there were times when me and my drip sat idle. It took another 30 minutes for a bag of fluids I needed in addition to the chemicals because my lab work indicated I was dehydrated. I didn't have the guts to tell Nam it was because I drank two Coronas the night before. What was I doing drinking Coronas, you ask? Well, primarily because I gave up Heinekens for Lent. But also because I went to my sister Jennifer's house to celebrate getting my head shaved. I'm now sporting what I call a "modified mohawk," compliments of my sister Elizabeth, the electric shaver guru. Before she was finished clipping the top off, my sisters dared me to leave it that way, so I did. Better to dance with cancer than despair over it, right? I might as well have a little fun. I look like a mix of Alfalfa from the Little Rascals -- and a Goth girl. I'm thinking about wearing a dog collar with spikes on it just to see how people react. Upon inspection of my head, my feisty 2-1/2 year old niece observed that a few locks of hair still remained. She promptly voiced her displeasure about it by scorning her mommy that she missed a spot. My 4-1/2 year old nephew didn't like the style much either. And as for my daughter Stephanie, well, let's just say that the days of Mom embarrassing her are just beginning.

Next Round, New Location

Week 22: While I was blissfully comfortable in my oncologist's office, I nonetheless decided to switch to Reston Hospital for my weekly infusions. For some unknown and quite possibly idiotic reason, my insurance company charges me a $30 co-pay for each visit for treatment in my doctor's office, but there's no charge if I receive it at the hospital. Go figure. Added up over the remaining 15 treatments, not counting the miscellaneous check-ups and lab work required with the chemo visits, I'll save myself $600 by going across the street, literally, to the hospital. There are some negatives with this choice, like not having a private room and not having the chemicals ready to go in order to save time (they don't order meds from the hospital pharmacy until I arrive and then we have to wait for the stuff to be brought up), but the plus side is there's free valet parking and a cafeteria! Even better, the nurse ordered a lunch tray for a lady next to me. I thought it was a great idea, so I might order room service next time I'm there, too. The thing is, I'm afraid if my insurance company doesn't cover it, then with my luck, I'll be paying that $600 co-pay savings back for the cost of lunch. I can just see my "out-of-network" bill: Ginger ale - $45; Turkey sandwich - $200; Mustard pack - $5, Oatmeal cookie - $80; Plastic fork, knife and napkin pack - $20; Misc. supplies and equipment (aka "lunch tray" for you layman) - $120 ...and so forth With respect to treatment itself, the side effects seem to be hitting me faster and lingering longer, the sickness is harder to keep at bay, and some new symptoms are appearing, like nose bleeds and ringing in my ears. I've also decided I really resent the metallic or otherwise distorted taste of food the chemo causes. Eating is one way I try to quash the nausea and make myself feel better, only to find that nothing seems to work and it all tastes bad. Oh, one other thing....it turns out I spoke about a half-week too soon: my hair is falling out. 'Sure took long enough. Even my doctor was surprised. We were beginning to think I might escape it!