Hurray — I already have the CT scan result, and it is all clear — no evidence of disease!

Bless that hospital radiology dept and my oncologist for getting me those results so quickly. It’s difficult to wait.

I kept reminding myself to remain quiet, to dwell in peace. But it’s like trying to keep a lid still over a boiling pot. (Sorry, that’s the only metaphor, lame as it is, that I can think of right now.) I would rather know what that test shows, and the sooner the better.

So I’m very happy. I’m off to Reiki now and Gail, my dear practitioner. Bliss!

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CT eve

It’s been a good week, although I’ve needed to keep reminding myself to breathe and be peaceful. My CT scan is tomorrow morning. Hopefully, I’ll know the results on Friday afternoon.

Because I felt better about the scan, I was able to enjoy a hike on Saturday with Cliff, and we went for a bike ride on Sunday. When I do those kinds of things, I’m exhausted for the rest of the day. But it’s so wonderful to exercise outside that it’s worth it.

I’ve been doing rough sketches this past week. I took a long fireplace-style matchstick and dipped it in ink and drew with it. It’s hard to control but certainly loosens you up! I sat on a blanket on the lawn in the shade, nestled the ink bottle in among the grass blades, and drew. Nice way to spend part of the afternoon.

The cat is asleep on my forearms as I type, so I’ll quit now, as this is getting uncomfortable (although the cat is snoozing quite comfortably — his head bobs up and down as I type).

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What is.

A CT scan is looming next week, and I have been dreading it. I’m not usually afraid of these cancer tests, but it has been five months since chemo ended, and I don’t know what’s going on inside me.

Well, that’s what the scan is for—to find out what’s going on. I still go into the chemo ward every other week for an infusion of Avastin, but that’s the extent of my treatment right now.

There are so many difficulties and tragedies in the world that it seems trivial to worry about a CT scan result. Yet, when something threatens our life, we are usually determined—instinctively—to fight it.

And I am.

Today during a quiet time I remembered this bit of wisdom:  “What is, is.”

And I realized that the scan in itself is nothing in fear. The results are non-emotional; the scanner is just recording what is.

I am making peace with what is. If cancer shows up on the scan, I will have treatment options. If it doesn’t show up, I will be relieved. The scanner is only recording what it sees.

And monitoring “what is” may save my life.

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Windy afternoon

I just finished walking the dog for a mile, with the crazy wind blowing my hair every which way. Then I poured a cup of coffee and sat out on the back patio, listening to the wind and feeling the gusts across my skin.

This is where I want to be in the world – in my neighborhood, in my backyard, in my own home. Maybe Cliff and I will do some traveling in the future if it works out, but if not, it’s okay. I love the beauty of the earth that is within my reach.

As far as my physical condition, the fatigue is lightening up a bit, thank goodness, but the neuropathy in my hands and feet persists. I need to be patient with that, because the docs said the nerve endings have to regrow, and that takes a while. We’ll see how much feeling is returned to my hands and feet.

I have been painting quite a lot. Last week I got frustrated and felt that I would never improve. So I took the powdered charcoal into the backyard on a windy day and threw the charcoal onto some watercolor paper. Then I poured water down it.

The papers kept blowing over, so I ended up with an interesting mixture of gray charcoal and brown dirt. I got most of the dirt off, but the little that remained seemed earthy and appropriate to me, so I let it be.

I created some things I liked and some I didn’t. But at least I have a place to start now, which is better than sitting in my studio and thinking dark thoughts about my art ability. I will post photos soon, but I have to finish the art pieces first.

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Saw both oncologists last week. Good news! My PET/CT scan was still all clear.

Since the scanner cannot detect things that are smaller than 3 mm, one of my oncologists wanted to go after the cancer on a microscopic level. So I now receive Avastin every other week in the chemo room for half an hour.

Avastin cuts off the blood supply to any cancer cells that may be lurking about so they can’t form a blood system and grow into a tumor. My oncologists got on the phone with each other, and they are both in agreement about this treatment.

I don’t seem to have any side effects from it, and I’m glad my oncologists are treating the cancer aggressively, because colon cancer can be persistent.

My biggest challenge right now is fatigue and neuropathy, which has numbed my feet to the ankle and all my fingers. It’s difficult to type – I’ve never made so many mistakes before! And walking must be done with care because it’s like walking with feet that are asleep.

But the neuropathy should recede slowly this coming year. In the meantime, I’m starting two yoga classes a week, hitting the gym, continuing art, and trying not to let the neuropathy interfere with my daily activities.

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Slumber

The day after I completed chemo, I just slept. After my morning appointment, I crashed and slept all afternoon.  I awoke to fix dinner and take a phone call from a dear friend, who thankfully was very kind about my incoherent and sleepy self.  Then I fell asleep again. At 9:30pm, my husband woke me and tucked me in bed and I slept until 6:30am.

I guess the excitement from ending chemo was just too much for me, or else I just have a very worn out body—maybe a little of both. Anyway, sleeping seemed like a very therapeutic thing to do.

Anyway, today I was back at the gym on the elliptical and in the whirlpool, which felt very good to my neuropathy. Warmth is comforting, even if it doesn’t help the neuropathy disappear.

I try to be kind to myself these days. I may have many years ahead of me or I may not. But I am doing my best to spend whatever days I have listening to what is deep within me and abiding in that peace.

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Chemo completed

cpmd-cabbage-104Source of my peace
   Spring of my joy
As always, I find your presence
   within myself
      and drink deeply of your hope.

Listening within, waiting, I have regained hope and happiness. Life is different now, to be sure, but again I reach into myself and the tranquility that has been worked within me over the years, and I rest in this sacred dwelling pace for love and peace.

Today—well, yesterday now, as it is 2:40am on Friday—I finished my twelfth and final round of chemo. I am so happy.  No more tubes and pumps, at least for a while. As the fatigue wears off, I will be able to start exercising, in earnest this time. “Listen to your body!”  the oncologists emphasize. I will listen, I promise.

But it’s hiking again, back to the gym and the elliptical, long walks with the dog as weather permits (and it often does), walks interspersed with race-walking (approved by the oncologists), and bicycling (with Cliff, in case of balance mishap).

It will be a couple of weeks—as this weeks’ chemo runs its two-week course—before I do much.  Still, it’s exciting to think about and start working up to day by day.

Thank you ALL for your support!!!!!  And thank you, my heartlings — Joanna’s and Evan’s friends — including Douglas in Paraguay.

Well of joy, spring forth!

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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

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