November 2008

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Kindness

Yesterday Cliff and I were at Petsmart choosing a little Christmas toy for our dog. Cliff wandered off toward the dog treat aisle.

I stayed up front, squatted down to look at an item on the lower rack, then lost my balance. I put out my arm to catch myself, but I didn’t have enough arm strength or leg strength to stop my fall. I rolled to the floor on my back in my winter jacket, sort of slowly, helplessly.

I am beyond being embarrassed these days. My body does not seem to be my own anymore.

A young clerk hurried over and helped me up. I thanked him, told him I was on chemo and a little weak. He said his grandfather finished chemo and it seems to have cured his cancer.

It was kind of him to share that. He didn’t make a big deal of anything – just talked for a moment to make sure I was okay.

It’s hard to get used to being weaker when I’ve always been strong. I am hoping that my body will recover at least some of its strength after chemo ends in January.

In the meantime, I am grateful for gracious strangers who lend a helping hand.

Thanksgiving joy

Here are the leaves I collected on my walk on Tuesday. I am partial to red!

I’m doing so much better since I stopped receiving Oxaliplatin, the drug that caused most of my neuropathy, in my chemo regimen. The side effects from this drug after eight rounds were miserable, and now that I’m off it, they are fading rapidly. I still have other chemo side effects, but none as nasty as the neuropathy.

Today is Thanksgiving, and it is a lovely day. Cliff and the kids are home, snoozing happily upstairs. Most of the Thanksgiving preparation has been done ahead of time with Joanna’s help and the contributions of my kindly friends. We will mosey along getting the rest done today and eat whenever it’s ready!

It’s very peaceful today. I hope you have a delightful Thanksgiving, full of gratitude for the days of your life and for the love surrounding you and within you!

Celebration and a decision

I just had my ninth round of chemo . . . ¾ done! After consulting both oncologists, I decided to drop the chemo drug that is causing most of my neuropathy and give my body a rest. The oncologists were concerned about permanent nerve damage in my hands, feet, and mouth.

I consulted some kindly people on a colon cancer forum, and their input and the oncologists’ opinions helped me make this decision. It was tough, actually. It’s hard to know all the implications, and even the doctors don’t know it all. There’s so much uncharted territory yet.

I have very happy to have received an “all clear” from the PET/CT scan radiologist. I’m aware that the scanner only sees activity that is 3mm or larger. It doesn’t see the tiny stuff. So I really don’t know what remains inside me.

Still, I am celebrating the scan results. They could have been so much different. I take the good when it comes and bask in it as long as I can!

During the weekend, I was down with a chemo-related migraine that I couldn’t seem to control with pain meds. I am predictably getting a migraine during the second week of chemo, usually on the weekend. So I ride it out.

I had a long day yesterday (but the headache was gone!) — getting chemo for 4 hours and seeing both oncologists (one is far away) takes a while. I left the house at 8am and didn’t return until 5pm – a normal workday for most people but exhausting for me.

Fortunately, my very kind son drove me to and from the distant appointment, and I was so grateful in my weary state not to have to gear myself up and concentrate on commuter traffic.

Today I feel so good and peaceful and rested, even though I’m still wearing the chemo unit which is dispensing a drug into my body 24/7.

All the same, this is a rare day, when I feel so serene during chemo. I will get outside and walk the dog and admire the autumn leaves, which is always refreshing.

Jesse, my walking buddy

Jesse, my walking buddy

PET/CT scan results

“No evidence of cancer.” That’s right, I received my first all-clear scan results! This is a huge relief, and I am enjoying the good news.

Today is yet another birthday. Three of my family members’ birthdays are all squished together in one week in November: my two children and my father.

Today is my son’s birthday, and he is recovering from a little too much celebrating out on the town last night. Evan, I hope you feel better soon and have an exciting and productive year ahead of you! I love you bunches!

Waiting for results

I had my PET/CT scan yesterday and am awaiting the results. It would be nice to have some good news. I should know on Monday morning.

Today is my dad’s birthday. He is 90 years old! My brother has flown down from Portland to visit our dad and his wife and to celebrate.

I wish I could be there, but I’m supposed to avoid airports and flying. And unfortunately, I don’t have the energy to travel.

But Dad, I love you! Congratulations! Have a wonderful day . . . and a year ahead filled with beauty and happiness!

Sleeping on a slope

Last week I mentioned my persistent, nonproductive cough to my oncologist. We agreed it is probably lingering from the lung surgery in June.

So the oncologist suggests we raise the head of my bed by placing a brick under each leg at the head. “Your husband won’t even notice the slight slant, and it may be enough to improve your cough, which he probably will notice and be grateful for.”

You know how it goes. If one solution is good, doubling it may be better. Cliff gathers enough bricks to start another patio and puts two under each leg at the head of the bed and one brick under each middle leg so as not to stress the bed frame. He is an engineer, after all. Or else he really wants that cough gone.

So now our bed is clearly aimed upward and looks as though it is headed for outer space. It is like our early camping days, when we cluelessly pitched our tent on the only spot available, which happened to be a slope, and we would both slide down the tent floor in our sleep and by morning end up in a heap at the lower edge, wet with condensation and ready to be born through the seam into the outer world.

In the middle of the night, I find myself with feet hanging over the lower edge and my arms grasping for the head of the bed to pull myself upward to a normal sleeping position. My husband is heavier than I am and doesn’t seem to deal with this. But gravity wants me. And it almost claims me, every night.

I would start pulling out the bricks myself, except I can’t lift much right now. My son is in the prime of his life, but he was recently visiting Brooklyn and stepped off an upper porch, falling 3-4 feet onto the sharp spikes of one of their neighborhood wrought iron fences.

So he has lifting restrictions for a while, which is a small price to pay, seeing as how he survived the impalement and all. His sternum was the hero that saved his inner organs. He has little spike mark wounds — and one big one on his sternum – in a line on his chest, which are still healing.

Who designed these friendly (rusty) neighborhood fences anyway?

the iron fence spikes in Brooklyn that Evan fell 3-4' onto, saved by his trusty sternum

 The iron fence spikes in Brooklyn that Evan fell 3-4 feet onto, saved by his trusty sternum

And Cliff is working long hours these days . . . although he just now walked in and said he’d get to it tonight. So perhaps gravity is claiming him as well.

So maybe by the end of today, I will get all three of us somewhat compromised people together and we’ll get the job done and level the sleeping arrangements out a bit. In the meantime, the launchpad remains and the mattress is aimed at outer space if anyone would like to try launching a bed into the unknown.

On another note, today is Joanna’s birthday.  Happy birthday, my darling, darling daughter! We love you and are so very proud of you! When you were born, the nurse wrote on your card, “My name is Joanna and I’m a real joy!” And oh, you are!

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Evening notes

I just read my last post, and it sounds like I am reeling uncontrollably around the house, but I am not. Although the moments I wrote about all happened and continue to happen, they don’t occur on the same day (or else it might be a good day to go back to bed).

Well, the hair drifting to the floor is sort of a constant process.

Monday, when I wrote it, was a very bad day. I felt like I could hardly move. But Tuesday and today have been so much better. I’ve gotten errands done and am exploring pen and ink in the studio. I can’t seem to get the hang of pen and ink, but it’s fun anyway and I enter sort of a zen-like zone when I’m using the pen or the water brush.

. . . except earlier today when both new nib-holders broke and one of the nibs fell out in the inky wash water and I unfortunately poured both the dark water and the brand new nib down the toilet. A comedy of errors. I went back to the little art store, and the clerk said, “You just bought these yesterday.”

Yes. Well. The hapless artist strikes again.

Plus my 23-year-old son was there as a witness to see the nib go down the toilet. He offered to reach in and try to locate and retrieve the nib in the toilet water, which was opaque with black ink. Ew . . . even though the toilet was clean. Anyway, he was sweet to offer, but I declined. Everything had broken or disappeared at once, and I was afraid something else might happen, like his cell phone dropping in the water or something.

I have a PET/CT scan tomorrow and see both oncologists (the conservative one and the one who prefers aggressive treatment) next week. I know they will both be concerned about the worsening neuropathy (numbness and needle-like sensations) in my hands, feet, and mouth. We’ll see what news the PET/CT brings. I have chemo on Monday and get disconnected from the chemo pump the day before Thanksgiving.

The kids have offered to make Thanksgiving dinner and I am going to take them up on it, as I will probably not feel so good (and unfortunately may not be able to taste much either so soon after chemo). Cliff will help with the dinner too, as he always does. Love this family.

pen and ink attempt, day one

pen and ink attempt, day 1

Gravity

One day your world tilts;
gravity no longer pulls you downward.
It propels you into walls, corners,
where you land in a haphazard heap,
wondering which law of physics changed
and didn’t let you know.

Your hair drifts down gently from your head,
settling in graceful curves on the floor.

You grasp counters and corners
to keep yourself upright.

You drop ice trays and
retrieve the scattering cubes
before they melt on the slippery tile.

You take naps and hours disappear.

And yet in all of this
you celebrate life, welcome friends,
laugh, receive comfort, share joy.

Because with every breath
you are a member of this world,
      this magic;
you touch the mystery;
you embrace the deep.

Up & down the scale

A few weeks ago, at the end of my sixth round, my neuropathy (sensitivity to cold) mysteriously lifted for three days. Naturally, I ate everything frozen within a five mile radius of my deprived mouth – ice cream, milk shakes, and 2 ½ satisfyingly rich Dove bars. Mmm. My stomach was in a state of bliss.

So then I see the oncologist the next day, at the beginning of my seventh round. He studies my chart and says, “Mmm, you’ve gained five pounds. I’m going to put a diuretic in your IV today.” 

I knew that water weight had nothing to do with it. It was those Dove bars and all the other cold, ice-creamery concoctions I had cheerily consumed within the past three days. It’s amazing how fast my body can say, “Yum, pack it on, baby. We’re not going to see this kind for food for a while!”

Well, I’m losing the weight again (the neuropathy is back, unfortunately) and am still about five pounds under the weight I began with before my lung surgery, so not to worry. In fact, my attitude is “Forget the diuretic. Step away from the IV, doc, and let me eat!”

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Seven rounds down

What a week it’s been. The history-making presidential election is over, and whether or not you liked the outcome, ya gotta admit it’s great to have all those nasty commercials off the air.

As for me, I’ve done with seven rounds of chemo, and my eighth will begin in three days.

The side effects are more persistent now; some of them last the entire two-week round. I guess the chemo is building up in my system. I still try to walk most days – 2 ¼ miles yesterday and a mile today – but some days I am too tired to get myself out the door.

Art is a good escape for me, although the weekly lesson (which only lasts an hour) wears me completely out because it requires undivided attention and focus, and my attention span is very short now.

My vision has been affected by the chemo, so I made an eye appointment for Wednesday. I will probably need to get a cheap (relatively speaking) pair of interim glasses to get me through the rest of chemo and the months afterwards as my body tries to return to normal.

Cliff and both kids are out of town this weekend. But they keep calling me. My balance isn’t so good these days, and I think they want to make sure I’m not lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs! Not to worry; I try to be careful.