I follow a number of cancer blogs these days. My favorites are those with the more positive spin on cancer. I need to be reminded of the positives (because I whine plenty!). I get a kick out of some of the titles. Like Bald is Better with Earrings. Indeed it is.
My current favorite upside to having cancer arrived in an email yesterday. I've been chosen to receive FOUR free house cleanings - one a month for four consecutive months. Starting soon. How 'bout dem apples?? Much of my anxiety comes from being unable to keep my home clean according to MY standards.
Believe me, I'm not above playing my cancer card to get perks. Like yesterday when I was talking to a lady about renting a cabin in the mountains so I can go see my boy. It's a girl thing. Mention breast cancer to another woman and suddenly discounts become part of the conversation. Woo!
I even played the card at work this week. Someone has been dragging their corporate feet about giving me what I want. I mention I have to take vacation time off every other week for my chemo treatments, and POOF....I get what I want when I want it. How about that??
It's important for me to remember the good stuff. Like being alive and having a relatively decent prognosis. Particularly on chemo days, like today. Its part of mentally preparing myself to be hit by a truck.
I may be sick as dirt next week, but at least I'll have a clean house. Now there's something to smile about!
It's all about the little things.
6/27/12
6/23/12
Not so weird after all...
I'm starting to think maybe I'm not so weird after all. All this cancer business has made me think a lot about death the past few months. We all ponder our own mortality, some more than others, but there's nothing like a life threatening illness to make you think seriously about such things.
Friends often "shush" me when I talk about things like estate planning, funeral planning, and other practicalities of the hereafter. As though they think I've given up the fight. Or I'm being negative. Or unnecessarily morbid. When really, it's none of those things. It's the project manager in me kicking in. I'm a planner. I'll be planning things even as I go to my grave, whenever that happens to be. Planning, or in this case, pre-planning, makes me think I'm in control. Even if I'm not.
When I first learned of my cancer, I immediate sprang into action and updated my will, checked to see what silly things I've put into my safe deposit box over the years, and started buying scrapbooking supplies so I can finish off the last of those umpteen scrapbooks I've been wanting to do.
But what I thought about the most was my son. How to make my passing easier for him, not just emotionally, but logistically.
We're all going to die. Even me. Even you. It's a fact of life, but not necessarily a sad fact. It's an opportunity for us. Most importantly, its an opportunity for us to get right with God. To ask forgiveness of people we've wronged in life. To put our "house" in order. And to clean out our closets, organize our filing cabinets, and make sure the right people know where to find our passwords and PINs.
I discovered a great web site that helps organize such things; MyWonderfulLife.com. There, you can leave instructions for the funeral you envision. Mine will be very non-traditional, so I'd best make sure someone knows what I'd like. You can leave letters to loved ones that can't be viewed until you're gone gone. Note where things are located, etc. Did you know the latest trend in funerals are "funeral favors"? Like birthday party favors. How funny.
No. Do not tell me that thinking about such things is WEIRD. Or NEGATIVE. Or MORBID. Or UNNECESSARY. It's not. I like to think its smart. It will not only make things easier for those I leave behind, whether that's in two weeks or two decades, but it will help complete my project plan. Which is very important. Cause who wants to spend their last moments on earth wondering if they left a note of their Yahoo passwords where someone can find it??
Friends often "shush" me when I talk about things like estate planning, funeral planning, and other practicalities of the hereafter. As though they think I've given up the fight. Or I'm being negative. Or unnecessarily morbid. When really, it's none of those things. It's the project manager in me kicking in. I'm a planner. I'll be planning things even as I go to my grave, whenever that happens to be. Planning, or in this case, pre-planning, makes me think I'm in control. Even if I'm not.
When I first learned of my cancer, I immediate sprang into action and updated my will, checked to see what silly things I've put into my safe deposit box over the years, and started buying scrapbooking supplies so I can finish off the last of those umpteen scrapbooks I've been wanting to do.
But what I thought about the most was my son. How to make my passing easier for him, not just emotionally, but logistically.
We're all going to die. Even me. Even you. It's a fact of life, but not necessarily a sad fact. It's an opportunity for us. Most importantly, its an opportunity for us to get right with God. To ask forgiveness of people we've wronged in life. To put our "house" in order. And to clean out our closets, organize our filing cabinets, and make sure the right people know where to find our passwords and PINs.
I discovered a great web site that helps organize such things; MyWonderfulLife.com. There, you can leave instructions for the funeral you envision. Mine will be very non-traditional, so I'd best make sure someone knows what I'd like. You can leave letters to loved ones that can't be viewed until you're gone gone. Note where things are located, etc. Did you know the latest trend in funerals are "funeral favors"? Like birthday party favors. How funny.
No. Do not tell me that thinking about such things is WEIRD. Or NEGATIVE. Or MORBID. Or UNNECESSARY. It's not. I like to think its smart. It will not only make things easier for those I leave behind, whether that's in two weeks or two decades, but it will help complete my project plan. Which is very important. Cause who wants to spend their last moments on earth wondering if they left a note of their Yahoo passwords where someone can find it??
6/17/12
Chemo: Round Four
I'm getting my ass kicked here. I had read that the side effects of chemo were cumulative, and I now appreciate precisely what that means. Took my 4th infusion last Wednesday and things haven't been good since. It's now Sunday afternoon and I'm wondering where the last 4 days have gone. Nausea, nausea, nausea. Punctuated with a headache and plenty of time in the bathroom.
Maybe the Red Devil is cackling at me all the way to hell and back for feeling just a little too celebratory on Wednesday after my last dose of the really bad stuff. Adriamycian, one of the more wicked chemo drugs, is often called the "Red Devil" because it is red and because it makes you very sick. I'd been sentenced to 4 doses of Adriamycian and Cytoxan to be infused every other week for 4 cycles. This is the what my oncologist called the "kick ass rip your guts out chemo." To be followed by 4 cycles of Taxol which has lesser side effects. This protocol is known as "dose dense ACT". Doc says there's nowhere to go from here but up....Taxol won't be nearly as bad as what I've already experienced. Break out the Champagne!
Don't know why that made me think I would escape the final punch of AC. Perhaps I was just so desperate for some optimism. Every visit to the doctor was always full of scary news. This last visit just prior to the infusion was the most positive and encouraging yet: This is my last really bad infusion. I probably won't need a blood transfusion cause my blood counts have been so good. The next four infusions will be like night and day compared to the last four. Hallelujah! Some good news.
Here's hoping that good news starts showing itself in the next day or so. Both my body and my spirit need to see the little bit of light at the end of the long tunnel.
Maybe the Red Devil is cackling at me all the way to hell and back for feeling just a little too celebratory on Wednesday after my last dose of the really bad stuff. Adriamycian, one of the more wicked chemo drugs, is often called the "Red Devil" because it is red and because it makes you very sick. I'd been sentenced to 4 doses of Adriamycian and Cytoxan to be infused every other week for 4 cycles. This is the what my oncologist called the "kick ass rip your guts out chemo." To be followed by 4 cycles of Taxol which has lesser side effects. This protocol is known as "dose dense ACT". Doc says there's nowhere to go from here but up....Taxol won't be nearly as bad as what I've already experienced. Break out the Champagne!
Don't know why that made me think I would escape the final punch of AC. Perhaps I was just so desperate for some optimism. Every visit to the doctor was always full of scary news. This last visit just prior to the infusion was the most positive and encouraging yet: This is my last really bad infusion. I probably won't need a blood transfusion cause my blood counts have been so good. The next four infusions will be like night and day compared to the last four. Hallelujah! Some good news.
Here's hoping that good news starts showing itself in the next day or so. Both my body and my spirit need to see the little bit of light at the end of the long tunnel.
6/12/12
Treat the problem in front of you
There has been a lot of press coverage the past few days about Robin Robert's announcement that she has developed a secondary cancer likely caused by her chemo treatments 5 years ago for Triple Negative Breast Cancer. In case you don't recognize the name, Robin is a long time anchor on Good Morning, America.
The news knocked me for a bit of a loop yesterday. She was one of my breast cancer heros....LOOK, if Robin Roberts can lick the same kind of cancer I have and still look so damn fabulous, maybe there's hope for me too! I don't even know the woman and I'm generally not a celebrity hound, but I am indeed very sorry to know she now looking at more chemo and bone marrow transfusions.
When I first met my oncologist, she warned me that chemo and radiation treatments are known to cause secondary cancers. She told the story of a patient who had recently started treatments for leukemia brought on by the chemo protocol my doctor recommended. She looked pained as she told the story. I was warned.
There's been a good deal of discussion on the forums in the past 24 hours about the wisdom of having chemo if a secondary (and incurable) cancer could result. In an interview this morning, Robin mentioned her fear that her situation would discourage others from having chemotherapy. She said she has no regrets about the chemo and would not be alive today if she had not taken it.
I agree. The possibility of a secondary cancer is no reason not to treat the problem in front of you. We can't possibly predict if we will be one of the unfortunate few who will deal with another cancer in 3 or 5 or 10 years. And if we don't treat the problem in front of us, we probably won't be alive to know.
As much as I utterly despise my chemo treatments, I will continue to suck it up and do it. My one regret is that I have not been able to muster the grace and courage many appear to exhibit during cancer treatments. I have gone into it kicking and screaming and bitchin' every step of the way. But come tomorrow afternoon, I will march my bald self into the Cancer Center of NC and sit my fanny in the chemo chair and DO IT. I will.
The news knocked me for a bit of a loop yesterday. She was one of my breast cancer heros....LOOK, if Robin Roberts can lick the same kind of cancer I have and still look so damn fabulous, maybe there's hope for me too! I don't even know the woman and I'm generally not a celebrity hound, but I am indeed very sorry to know she now looking at more chemo and bone marrow transfusions.
When I first met my oncologist, she warned me that chemo and radiation treatments are known to cause secondary cancers. She told the story of a patient who had recently started treatments for leukemia brought on by the chemo protocol my doctor recommended. She looked pained as she told the story. I was warned.
There's been a good deal of discussion on the forums in the past 24 hours about the wisdom of having chemo if a secondary (and incurable) cancer could result. In an interview this morning, Robin mentioned her fear that her situation would discourage others from having chemotherapy. She said she has no regrets about the chemo and would not be alive today if she had not taken it.
I agree. The possibility of a secondary cancer is no reason not to treat the problem in front of you. We can't possibly predict if we will be one of the unfortunate few who will deal with another cancer in 3 or 5 or 10 years. And if we don't treat the problem in front of us, we probably won't be alive to know.
As much as I utterly despise my chemo treatments, I will continue to suck it up and do it. My one regret is that I have not been able to muster the grace and courage many appear to exhibit during cancer treatments. I have gone into it kicking and screaming and bitchin' every step of the way. But come tomorrow afternoon, I will march my bald self into the Cancer Center of NC and sit my fanny in the chemo chair and DO IT. I will.
6/10/12
Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure
I enjoyed following the local activities around the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure this weekend. Naturally, it has a much different significance to me now. The Komen Foundation has such a well-oiled marketing and PR machine that you can't help but be aware of their cause. But its different once breast cancer touches your life. It's a different sort of awareness. And gratitude.
My friend Wilda participated in the race as a walker. She came by to visit today and said she thought of me during the walk. Not only did that make me feel loved, but it added a new connection to the race for me. She told me wonderful stories of walking past homes along the route also celebrating and encouraging the participants. From the house that had the sprinklers going in the yard so the walkers and runners could cool off to yard signage speaking of hope and encouragement to families and homeowners out in their yards cheering.
One of the things I appreciated most about local coverage of the race is watching all the happy, joyous and healthy people not only giving of themselves to raise money for the cause but also to celebrate their own survivorship or to memorialize those who lost the fight. Watching it gave me hope. That one day soon I will also be celebrating my good health.
Interestingly, the Komen site is currently running an article on my particular type of cancer, Triple Negative. I was already aware of most of the information in the article, but it is nice that a powerhouse organization such as Komen is helping draw attention - and research dollars - to this kind of cancer. You can read a personal story of Triple Negative breast cancer here.
So, what are you waiting for? GIVE! TODAY!
My friend Wilda participated in the race as a walker. She came by to visit today and said she thought of me during the walk. Not only did that make me feel loved, but it added a new connection to the race for me. She told me wonderful stories of walking past homes along the route also celebrating and encouraging the participants. From the house that had the sprinklers going in the yard so the walkers and runners could cool off to yard signage speaking of hope and encouragement to families and homeowners out in their yards cheering.
One of the things I appreciated most about local coverage of the race is watching all the happy, joyous and healthy people not only giving of themselves to raise money for the cause but also to celebrate their own survivorship or to memorialize those who lost the fight. Watching it gave me hope. That one day soon I will also be celebrating my good health.
Interestingly, the Komen site is currently running an article on my particular type of cancer, Triple Negative. I was already aware of most of the information in the article, but it is nice that a powerhouse organization such as Komen is helping draw attention - and research dollars - to this kind of cancer. You can read a personal story of Triple Negative breast cancer here.
So, what are you waiting for? GIVE! TODAY!
6/6/12
Sick and Tired of Having Cancer
As the old saying goes, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm tired of having Cancer. Done with it. Only problem is its not done with me.
This has been the worst of my chemo weeks. Things started looking up a bit yesterday, but only after days of wretchedness and trips to the doctor for fluids and yet more medications to fix what chemo broke. The skin on the bottom of my feet has started to crack so that it hurts to walk. My eyelashes are falling out. I have no sense of taste and everything smells terrible. I cry. A lot. Doc says the steroids amplify emotions making it hard to turn off the faucet. No kidding. I am exhausted yet I can't sleep. Everything upsets my tummy. My memory is shot and I have trouble stringing together a sentence or remembering if I've paid the cable bill.
Ugh. Life sucks. Cancer sucks. Chemo sucks.
Duly looking for the bright side, I've lost 10 pounds. That's a good thing, right? And I have only one more round of the really bad chemo. The last four infusions will be with a drug that will have side effects, but not as bad. Let's hope.
I keep reading that chemo is "doable". Sure, it's doable, so long as the alternative is six feet under. Anything is "doable" under those circumstances. That's overly dramatic and morbid, I know. But the idea that chemo is "doable" is stupid to me. Doable is mastering the art of french cooking or learning to knit. Not making your way through chemo.
I returned to work week before last. My doc wishes I would not try to work right now. She says most people can't work through this. Its the only thing that makes me feel normal even if I have to massage my days around various side effects.
Feeling normal. I want to feel normal. I want to have dinner with friends, go to a movie, plant pretty things in my yard. Cook. I miss cooking. I want to stop obsessing over insurance payments and upcoming infusions. I want to go to the beach. I want to fly somewhere sunny and tropical. I want to read a trashy novel and think about having shrimp for dinner with a good bottle of wine. I want something other than....cancer. Something happy and pleasant.
I sure sound whiny this morning, huh? That's ok. I can whine when I want, sleep when I want, eat what I can when I can. Having cancer gives me the right...maybe its one of the perks of having cancer! So I'll embrace my selfishness cause it's probably one of the few times in my life I can get away with it. Whine away!
This has been the worst of my chemo weeks. Things started looking up a bit yesterday, but only after days of wretchedness and trips to the doctor for fluids and yet more medications to fix what chemo broke. The skin on the bottom of my feet has started to crack so that it hurts to walk. My eyelashes are falling out. I have no sense of taste and everything smells terrible. I cry. A lot. Doc says the steroids amplify emotions making it hard to turn off the faucet. No kidding. I am exhausted yet I can't sleep. Everything upsets my tummy. My memory is shot and I have trouble stringing together a sentence or remembering if I've paid the cable bill.
Ugh. Life sucks. Cancer sucks. Chemo sucks.
Duly looking for the bright side, I've lost 10 pounds. That's a good thing, right? And I have only one more round of the really bad chemo. The last four infusions will be with a drug that will have side effects, but not as bad. Let's hope.
I keep reading that chemo is "doable". Sure, it's doable, so long as the alternative is six feet under. Anything is "doable" under those circumstances. That's overly dramatic and morbid, I know. But the idea that chemo is "doable" is stupid to me. Doable is mastering the art of french cooking or learning to knit. Not making your way through chemo.
I returned to work week before last. My doc wishes I would not try to work right now. She says most people can't work through this. Its the only thing that makes me feel normal even if I have to massage my days around various side effects.
Feeling normal. I want to feel normal. I want to have dinner with friends, go to a movie, plant pretty things in my yard. Cook. I miss cooking. I want to stop obsessing over insurance payments and upcoming infusions. I want to go to the beach. I want to fly somewhere sunny and tropical. I want to read a trashy novel and think about having shrimp for dinner with a good bottle of wine. I want something other than....cancer. Something happy and pleasant.
I sure sound whiny this morning, huh? That's ok. I can whine when I want, sleep when I want, eat what I can when I can. Having cancer gives me the right...maybe its one of the perks of having cancer! So I'll embrace my selfishness cause it's probably one of the few times in my life I can get away with it. Whine away!
6/2/12
Chemo: Round Three
So I had my third chemo infusion on Wednesday. It was the worst yet of my visits to the chemo suite at Cancer Center of NC. Not because the infusion made me sick, but because the whole experience was just so awfully upsetting and overwhelming.
I am finding that my dread of chemo starts revving up the day before and by the time I am in the car headed in that direction, my poker face is drooping. Cried the whole way, while I was in the chair, and afterwards. It wasn't just the dread that left me in such a state, there were other influences.
One was the chaos in the chemo suite. Monday was a holiday, so they were herding 'em in the rest of the week. The place was freakin' crowded with sick people, the people who loved them, and the very busy nurses scurrying around. Right after I arrived, they had to call 911 for a man who had an allergic reaction to his treatment. I even heard the doctor tell the nurse to call 911. I got to watch the ambulance pull up and take him away. One down. Really wish I hadn't seen that.
I got to sit and watch the chaos for a good while before being called to begin my infusion. Got to truly absorb the urgent busy-ness of the place before taking my place before the needle and bags of poison that would make me feel like a cancer patient for the next 4 or 5 or 6 days. Or however long the chemo devil will choose to rack me this time.
I've read that a nearby cancer clinic is developing an outdoor meditation garden where you can take your chemo outdoors in relative quiet, weather permitting. And I fantasize about a chemo suite with little cubicles or rooms where you can take your poison with some dignity and quiet. As it is, the chemo suite is one big room with about 50 chairs. Think bull pin. It's loud and busy. Overwhelming.
There are two nice things about my chemo suite that I do appreciate. One is the bird feeders outside the windows. It's the only tiny little thing that can transport you from being a cancer patient with red fluids flowing into your arteries that will shortly make you feel like dirt to a place that is a little more peaceful and less life or death. And then there are the volunteers who come around with warm blankets and a pretty basket of snacks.
So far, I feel relatively good since this infusion, comparatively. I had extra fluids and anti-nausea meds infused yesterday. I slept well last night for the first night in a few. Sunday after infusion is usually my worst day, so keep your fingers crossed for me. And please...if you are so inclined, say a few prayers that I will be able to get through my next 5 infusions in a better state of mind. I'd really appreciate it.
I am finding that my dread of chemo starts revving up the day before and by the time I am in the car headed in that direction, my poker face is drooping. Cried the whole way, while I was in the chair, and afterwards. It wasn't just the dread that left me in such a state, there were other influences.
One was the chaos in the chemo suite. Monday was a holiday, so they were herding 'em in the rest of the week. The place was freakin' crowded with sick people, the people who loved them, and the very busy nurses scurrying around. Right after I arrived, they had to call 911 for a man who had an allergic reaction to his treatment. I even heard the doctor tell the nurse to call 911. I got to watch the ambulance pull up and take him away. One down. Really wish I hadn't seen that.
I got to sit and watch the chaos for a good while before being called to begin my infusion. Got to truly absorb the urgent busy-ness of the place before taking my place before the needle and bags of poison that would make me feel like a cancer patient for the next 4 or 5 or 6 days. Or however long the chemo devil will choose to rack me this time.
I've read that a nearby cancer clinic is developing an outdoor meditation garden where you can take your chemo outdoors in relative quiet, weather permitting. And I fantasize about a chemo suite with little cubicles or rooms where you can take your poison with some dignity and quiet. As it is, the chemo suite is one big room with about 50 chairs. Think bull pin. It's loud and busy. Overwhelming.
There are two nice things about my chemo suite that I do appreciate. One is the bird feeders outside the windows. It's the only tiny little thing that can transport you from being a cancer patient with red fluids flowing into your arteries that will shortly make you feel like dirt to a place that is a little more peaceful and less life or death. And then there are the volunteers who come around with warm blankets and a pretty basket of snacks.
So far, I feel relatively good since this infusion, comparatively. I had extra fluids and anti-nausea meds infused yesterday. I slept well last night for the first night in a few. Sunday after infusion is usually my worst day, so keep your fingers crossed for me. And please...if you are so inclined, say a few prayers that I will be able to get through my next 5 infusions in a better state of mind. I'd really appreciate it.
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