I couldn't sleep so I got back up and decided to write about the NuLasta injection, etc. Not to worry - I fell asleep on the couch at around 9:00 pm and slept there until almost 1:00 am, got up and switched to the bed, and got a little restless. Not feeling physically bad and not upset. Just a little restless.
As far as the rest of my day, I had a lovely longish talk with my son, S. We discussed possible timing and arrangements for him to come up for a visit with my grandson, C. My daughter-in-law is in school and likely can't come along - my son is "free" to come at this point because on or around the time I was having my surgery, he was let go from his job (a job he didn't care for and that paid almost nothing; still, there is an element of panic in the recession-filled world of being cut loose). So I'm hoping S and C will come up for 5-6 days, possibly between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I also got to visit with my new next door neighbor, tiny little rosebud-let JR. I held her for a bit. She is so tiny, but had just been to the doctor and pronounced perfect - actually, I think he said healthy. But I say perfect. I offered to give M. the note she left for me on Sunday night ("Midnight Sunday - my water may have broken. Going to the hospital. M & R") for her baby book/ scrap book. I know some day baby JR will get a kick out of it, especially since she was born only 4 hours later!
I got the shot. In the end, despite multiple kind offers to drive me, go with me, etc., I decided to drive by myself. I think it was good to do that. It seemed a first step toward integrating the "treatment" for cancer into my own individual life, something I deal with myself - of course and thank God, with support from wonderful family and friends - but still (as I think Mary S put it), a journey that on certain levels I must take alone.
The shot itself, not a big deal. Nurse E met me but was busy with another patient in the group treatment room, so nurse B, whom I met on Wed., took over. She first asked me questions about my reaction to the first chemo. I filled her in Then she warned that the NuLasta injection "burned" when it went. Didn't seem much like that to me. I asked when I could expect to feel the side effects - I actually was worried they might start on my drive home. No, no, she laughed, maybe not at all, and most likely not for a couple days. Joint and bone pain. Hips, legs, knees. She said once she had a patient she explained that to and she forgot to tell him the pain could be in his breastbone and when that happened, he thought he was having a heart attack. So she warned me about pain in the breastbone. And that was it. I drove myself home.
I'm planning on calling Dr. M's office tomorrow, and the ESU and disability insurance company tomorrow to discuss going back to work. I had discussed with Dr. M the possibility of going back to work first part-time (1/2 time). I'm thinking I would like to see if he would approve my doing that a week from today (Thursday, Nov. 19th I think). That would mean 5 days of part-time work and then the Thanksgiving break. I think that might work out okay. I've already talked to Kim at work about it. I think I'm ready but am a little nervous about it. I'll write more about it and my feelings after i talk to the aforesaid people tomorrow.
Okay, I'm fading. I think I'm ready - or almost - go back to bed with my Ice Bat. Go ahead, ask me about my Ice Bat!
Peace.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Thursday morning
Thanks to all who sent anti-nausea spirits to guard me last night. I slept well woke up feeling much better, just a slight momentary wobbliness when I first got out of bed, but it went away quickly. I decided to take Jessie to the park since I'm not sure how I will react to the injection of NuLasta scheduled for this afternoon. The park was as always (especially at 6:30 in the morning) peaceful and peace-giving. The heron was back on her old perch, the small float in the back of the pond. I read a little more about great blue herons and now believe she (still not sure about gender) is an immature / juvenile great blue heron. That explains why she does not yet have the feathery crest features of the adult heron. While Jessie and I passed the pond, 2 separate gaggles of Canadian geese came in for watery landings. The first group landed, and squawked and honked up a storm. A moment or two later, the second group landed. More squawking and honking joined the first group. It sounded like... I don't what.... a big family reunion where people hadn't seen each other in ages It was great.
Now to catch up on cancer-specific news - I have now taken my morning-after treatment meds (Emend and 2 of the steroid pills), plus the B1, B6 and B12 vitamins recommended by nurse E to counter the chemo side effect of tingling/numbness in the fingers and toes. I'm feeling every so slightly shaky, the way you might if you hadn't eaten anything for a while. So I ate my usual yogurt. My sense of taste seems a little affected, sort of a background after taste present in my mouth, but I didn't notice it until I took the meds. I'm wondering if it is associated with the B-vitamins, which weren't coated, just plain tablets, and have a strong odor. I sure did enjoy my morning coffee before Jessie and I sent to the park!
Back to yesterday: I'm going to try to describe as much of yesterday's treatment and my feelings about it as I am able to, so bear with me if this is long (there are only 6 of these treatments scheduled in total, and I can't imagine I'll have as much to say about the others as this one).
Helen and I arrived a little early. I was weighed and had blood drawn. A short wait and we were taken to a private treatment room (Nurse E had said she tries to put first timers in private rooms versus the group treatment room). We waited some more. My blood pressure was taken (120/80 - high for me, but lower than when I met with Dr. R), pulse and temperature. Waited some more. Nurse E came by and met Helen and went over the treatment schedule. She returned with pre-treatment meds. I can't remember them all, but they included 1 or more pills from my stash of the prescribed steroids, one of my $100/pill Emend doses, an alternative to Benedril (which I can't take) to deal with potential allergic reaction to one of the chemo drugs), and some other pills that I failed to ask about. We then waited about an hour for all those meds to start working.
The first chemo drug was the Paclitaxel (which is familiarly if not affectionately referred to as "Taxel") - the one to which a small percentage of patients have extreme allergic reactions. As a result, for the first hour, the IV is released very very slowly with alarms set every 10-15 minutes, for a stop and check. Either Nurse E or a nurse B was in the room with me for most of that hour, a measure I guess of the seriousness of the potential allergic reaction. Nurse B is the shift manager or something like that. I liked her. She has a cool spiky short hair cut and advised me that there is a very good chance my post-chemo hair will grow back in curly. Since I've coveted curly hair my whole life, this is a small something to look forward to (apart from generally putting all this behind us). At any rate, I got through the first hour with no problems and nurse E let the IV run normally and told me it would be 3 more hours.
Helen and I had lovely talks as long as she was able to stay, which was several hours. Then I listened to podcasts on my iPod with the uncomfortable treatment chair ( I have to say it, I feel bad criticizing anything about the cancer center which seems like a good and caring place - but these treatment chairs ... man oh man) reclined. Apparently they came around offering lunch while I was doing this and thought I was asleep. So the first drug finished, and I was hooked up with the second which takes an hour. I got up and peed a couple of times (one restroom is shared by 2 private treatment rooms). I asked about lunch and nurse E found some for me. A plain turkey sandwich on wheat bread, container of applesauce and a slice of Sara Lee pound cake. The turkey sandwich tasted great (I like my sandwiches plain). Later in the day I spoke with V and she told me that when A went through chemo, the steroids they gave him made him ravenous. Likely that's what was going on with me, because I don't think I ever devoured a simple turkey sandwich with as much gusto. David arrived about then; we split the pound cake. The second chemo drug finished. Nurse E went through my post-treatment instructions for meds. We changed my NuLasta appointment from Friday am to Thursday (today) at 3:00 pm. And we left.
When I got home, I was still ravenous. I drank a diet coke and had some chips and then some crackers. My daughter called, and I spoke to V and to J. I had an early dinner of the chicken soup David had made the day before. I rested, napped, and was awakened by a rush of nausea. Once I sat up, it dissipated. But I could hardly keep my eyes open and I really longed to lie down and sleep, but was afraid to. Slight to moderate nausea came and went. Finally, about 8 pm, I gave in and took an anti-nausea tablet nurse E had previously called in for me.
During the treatments themselves, I didn't have a lot of physical (or emotional) reactions. Once or twice I felt a flush come up in my face. I was getting glucose through the IV before the treatment, and as is usual with that, I could feel the coldness of the glucose in my arm. The IV site didn't hurt at all; in fact, nurse E put in the IV so gently that I barely felt it. Emotionally, I felt a little bit all day long as if I were waiting for that proverbial shoe to drop (a cliche brought to mind perhaps by the fact that Helen and I talked shoes for some time). Seriously what I mean is that I kept waiting for something bad to happen - to have something hurt, or to have that extreme or any other allergic reaction, or to see that certain gleam of "uh oh" in the eyes of nurse E or nurse B and know something wasn't right. But none of that happened.
I was thinking about this on my walk in the park this morning, and I realized that my past health/medical experiences haven't prepared me for cancer treatments. This isn't like a big buildup to a surgery, after which there is a period of recovery. This is a long term on-going experience that varies, changes and accumulates over time. Yesterday was just passing through the entry gate to what is going to be a way of life, both during the months of treatment and to a certain extent, even afterwards, with post-treatment follow up appointments for years, likely (if I am lucky, for many, many years).
And during treatment, the new way of life will bring chemo side effects to deal with, which have only lifted a cold little nose and nudged me under the arm, so to speak, to get my attention so far. They have not yet sunk their fangs in me or even nipped me hard (perhaps the side effects of the NuLasta injection will bring that new experience). So far only some fatigue (some of which was "naturally" based on lack of sleep - surprise! surprise!). A little nausea combined with ravenous cravings for food (ha!). B-vitamins based short-term affect on taste. Clearly I'm still a cancer neophyte.
That's it for now. Thanks for bearing through a long post. I think I'll go try to enjoy the day before the NuLasta injection this afternoon.
Peace.
Now to catch up on cancer-specific news - I have now taken my morning-after treatment meds (Emend and 2 of the steroid pills), plus the B1, B6 and B12 vitamins recommended by nurse E to counter the chemo side effect of tingling/numbness in the fingers and toes. I'm feeling every so slightly shaky, the way you might if you hadn't eaten anything for a while. So I ate my usual yogurt. My sense of taste seems a little affected, sort of a background after taste present in my mouth, but I didn't notice it until I took the meds. I'm wondering if it is associated with the B-vitamins, which weren't coated, just plain tablets, and have a strong odor. I sure did enjoy my morning coffee before Jessie and I sent to the park!
Back to yesterday: I'm going to try to describe as much of yesterday's treatment and my feelings about it as I am able to, so bear with me if this is long (there are only 6 of these treatments scheduled in total, and I can't imagine I'll have as much to say about the others as this one).
Helen and I arrived a little early. I was weighed and had blood drawn. A short wait and we were taken to a private treatment room (Nurse E had said she tries to put first timers in private rooms versus the group treatment room). We waited some more. My blood pressure was taken (120/80 - high for me, but lower than when I met with Dr. R), pulse and temperature. Waited some more. Nurse E came by and met Helen and went over the treatment schedule. She returned with pre-treatment meds. I can't remember them all, but they included 1 or more pills from my stash of the prescribed steroids, one of my $100/pill Emend doses, an alternative to Benedril (which I can't take) to deal with potential allergic reaction to one of the chemo drugs), and some other pills that I failed to ask about. We then waited about an hour for all those meds to start working.
The first chemo drug was the Paclitaxel (which is familiarly if not affectionately referred to as "Taxel") - the one to which a small percentage of patients have extreme allergic reactions. As a result, for the first hour, the IV is released very very slowly with alarms set every 10-15 minutes, for a stop and check. Either Nurse E or a nurse B was in the room with me for most of that hour, a measure I guess of the seriousness of the potential allergic reaction. Nurse B is the shift manager or something like that. I liked her. She has a cool spiky short hair cut and advised me that there is a very good chance my post-chemo hair will grow back in curly. Since I've coveted curly hair my whole life, this is a small something to look forward to (apart from generally putting all this behind us). At any rate, I got through the first hour with no problems and nurse E let the IV run normally and told me it would be 3 more hours.
Helen and I had lovely talks as long as she was able to stay, which was several hours. Then I listened to podcasts on my iPod with the uncomfortable treatment chair ( I have to say it, I feel bad criticizing anything about the cancer center which seems like a good and caring place - but these treatment chairs ... man oh man) reclined. Apparently they came around offering lunch while I was doing this and thought I was asleep. So the first drug finished, and I was hooked up with the second which takes an hour. I got up and peed a couple of times (one restroom is shared by 2 private treatment rooms). I asked about lunch and nurse E found some for me. A plain turkey sandwich on wheat bread, container of applesauce and a slice of Sara Lee pound cake. The turkey sandwich tasted great (I like my sandwiches plain). Later in the day I spoke with V and she told me that when A went through chemo, the steroids they gave him made him ravenous. Likely that's what was going on with me, because I don't think I ever devoured a simple turkey sandwich with as much gusto. David arrived about then; we split the pound cake. The second chemo drug finished. Nurse E went through my post-treatment instructions for meds. We changed my NuLasta appointment from Friday am to Thursday (today) at 3:00 pm. And we left.
When I got home, I was still ravenous. I drank a diet coke and had some chips and then some crackers. My daughter called, and I spoke to V and to J. I had an early dinner of the chicken soup David had made the day before. I rested, napped, and was awakened by a rush of nausea. Once I sat up, it dissipated. But I could hardly keep my eyes open and I really longed to lie down and sleep, but was afraid to. Slight to moderate nausea came and went. Finally, about 8 pm, I gave in and took an anti-nausea tablet nurse E had previously called in for me.
During the treatments themselves, I didn't have a lot of physical (or emotional) reactions. Once or twice I felt a flush come up in my face. I was getting glucose through the IV before the treatment, and as is usual with that, I could feel the coldness of the glucose in my arm. The IV site didn't hurt at all; in fact, nurse E put in the IV so gently that I barely felt it. Emotionally, I felt a little bit all day long as if I were waiting for that proverbial shoe to drop (a cliche brought to mind perhaps by the fact that Helen and I talked shoes for some time). Seriously what I mean is that I kept waiting for something bad to happen - to have something hurt, or to have that extreme or any other allergic reaction, or to see that certain gleam of "uh oh" in the eyes of nurse E or nurse B and know something wasn't right. But none of that happened.
I was thinking about this on my walk in the park this morning, and I realized that my past health/medical experiences haven't prepared me for cancer treatments. This isn't like a big buildup to a surgery, after which there is a period of recovery. This is a long term on-going experience that varies, changes and accumulates over time. Yesterday was just passing through the entry gate to what is going to be a way of life, both during the months of treatment and to a certain extent, even afterwards, with post-treatment follow up appointments for years, likely (if I am lucky, for many, many years).
And during treatment, the new way of life will bring chemo side effects to deal with, which have only lifted a cold little nose and nudged me under the arm, so to speak, to get my attention so far. They have not yet sunk their fangs in me or even nipped me hard (perhaps the side effects of the NuLasta injection will bring that new experience). So far only some fatigue (some of which was "naturally" based on lack of sleep - surprise! surprise!). A little nausea combined with ravenous cravings for food (ha!). B-vitamins based short-term affect on taste. Clearly I'm still a cancer neophyte.
That's it for now. Thanks for bearing through a long post. I think I'll go try to enjoy the day before the NuLasta injection this afternoon.
Peace.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Wednesday evening - 1 down...
Well, I made it through Chemo #1, thanks to support from Helen, David and the excellent and on the ball nurse E. Now I am very tired - result of not sleeping great and getting up at 5:00 am to take the second load of pre-treatment meds, and then not really being able to go back to sleep. Plus all the supporting meds they gave before the treatment; it seems like 1 common side effect of almost all of them is drowsiness, fatigue, etc. In the last hour or so I've had my first twinges/tweaks of nausea, nothing terrible ... yet. But I went ahead and took the additional anti-nausea med they gave me a presecription for. I'll write more about the whole treatment experience at another time, hopefully tomorrow.
Just as we were pulling into the parking lot at home, my neighbors were arriving with brand new and beautiful little baby JR. She is a peanut, tiny and perfect, and she was sleeping soundly when I saw her (later this afternoon I thought I heard wonderful little protesting little mew-cries from next door - hungry I bet! I had a wonderful care package waiting here for me from V - I am now the owner of 4 new caps, 2 outdoors type caps from V, and 2 indoors caps made by nurse E's aunt or mother, I forget which. I had a good talk with V and J and also had a lovely short chat with my daughter, whom I admire so much for what she's choosing to do with her life, while being so available to be there for me, too. It can't be easy for her.
That's it for now. Thanks to each of you who has written to me, commented here, called, stopped by and been so supportive and loving. I'm going to try to go to bed now. Please send me powerful strong anti-nausea spirits to guard me through the night.
Peace.
Just as we were pulling into the parking lot at home, my neighbors were arriving with brand new and beautiful little baby JR. She is a peanut, tiny and perfect, and she was sleeping soundly when I saw her (later this afternoon I thought I heard wonderful little protesting little mew-cries from next door - hungry I bet! I had a wonderful care package waiting here for me from V - I am now the owner of 4 new caps, 2 outdoors type caps from V, and 2 indoors caps made by nurse E's aunt or mother, I forget which. I had a good talk with V and J and also had a lovely short chat with my daughter, whom I admire so much for what she's choosing to do with her life, while being so available to be there for me, too. It can't be easy for her.
That's it for now. Thanks to each of you who has written to me, commented here, called, stopped by and been so supportive and loving. I'm going to try to go to bed now. Please send me powerful strong anti-nausea spirits to guard me through the night.
Peace.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Later Tuesday afternoon
Update - my neighbor M had her baby very early Monday morning, 4:30 am. A girl! 7 pounds. Mother and daughter (and dad, too) all doing well. They are due home tomorrow, mid-day. That gives me a wonderful thing to look forward to after my first chemo session - a new baby girl!
Life rocks!
Life rocks!
Tuesday afternoon
Okay, it's official. I am nervous, scared, anxious and full of dread about tomorrow. Okay, glad we got that out of the way.
Jessie and I saw the heron this morning, still on the ducks' side of the pond. Today he/she was actually wading in the pond, about 4 or 5 feet from the shore. While I watched, he/she began to stretch out his/her neck and very very slowly began leaning over toward the water. I thought, oh, she (I've decided I'm going to call this heron a SHE from now on until I learn otherwise) is going to go for a fish. But instead of shooting her beak into the water after a fish, she kind of flopped over in slow motion and the whole top half of her went under water. Like getting dunked. If she was going for a fish, she's not very good at it. I thought maybe she was taking a little bath (not that I'd want to bathe in that pond - too many ducks and Canadian geese. Ick squared!)
Otherwise, dropped by my office to pick up a couple of things. Went to the grocery store. Read some. Spoke to my daughter which was lovely.
The only significant cancer-related news is that I was finally approved to join an on-line subscription based support group for women with gynocological cancers. I logged on and read the other group members' introductions; sobering. They all seemed to be very strong women with (unfortunately) longer experience dealing with cancer(s) than I. Made me realize again how truly lucky I am. Seems sort of pathetic to be as full of anxiety as I am about my first treatment in the face of their collective experiences and on-going battles. I also realized that while I have really wanted to join this support group, when I did and went to start reviewing the first postings, I saw that I am actually not yet ready to read all the nitty-gritty details of dealing with cancer treatments, side effects, etc. I guess when I start going through that and dealing with those issues myself, then likely I will be looking for advice, support and so on. But it was interesting to learn about myself that I am not yet ready to hear details about other people's hard hard struggles. I'll get there, I'm sure. And hopefully be able to be there as support for others, myself, some day.
Lovely notes from Jon and Cathy. Trying to fix a time to get together with V, M and S - something to look forward to post-first chemo.
Well, I'm actually so nervous that I"m going to stop writing now. Perhaps I'll log in and write more later. Otherwise, the next post will be post-first-chemo. That'll be great!
Peace.
Jessie and I saw the heron this morning, still on the ducks' side of the pond. Today he/she was actually wading in the pond, about 4 or 5 feet from the shore. While I watched, he/she began to stretch out his/her neck and very very slowly began leaning over toward the water. I thought, oh, she (I've decided I'm going to call this heron a SHE from now on until I learn otherwise) is going to go for a fish. But instead of shooting her beak into the water after a fish, she kind of flopped over in slow motion and the whole top half of her went under water. Like getting dunked. If she was going for a fish, she's not very good at it. I thought maybe she was taking a little bath (not that I'd want to bathe in that pond - too many ducks and Canadian geese. Ick squared!)
Otherwise, dropped by my office to pick up a couple of things. Went to the grocery store. Read some. Spoke to my daughter which was lovely.
The only significant cancer-related news is that I was finally approved to join an on-line subscription based support group for women with gynocological cancers. I logged on and read the other group members' introductions; sobering. They all seemed to be very strong women with (unfortunately) longer experience dealing with cancer(s) than I. Made me realize again how truly lucky I am. Seems sort of pathetic to be as full of anxiety as I am about my first treatment in the face of their collective experiences and on-going battles. I also realized that while I have really wanted to join this support group, when I did and went to start reviewing the first postings, I saw that I am actually not yet ready to read all the nitty-gritty details of dealing with cancer treatments, side effects, etc. I guess when I start going through that and dealing with those issues myself, then likely I will be looking for advice, support and so on. But it was interesting to learn about myself that I am not yet ready to hear details about other people's hard hard struggles. I'll get there, I'm sure. And hopefully be able to be there as support for others, myself, some day.
Lovely notes from Jon and Cathy. Trying to fix a time to get together with V, M and S - something to look forward to post-first chemo.
Well, I'm actually so nervous that I"m going to stop writing now. Perhaps I'll log in and write more later. Otherwise, the next post will be post-first-chemo. That'll be great!
Peace.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday evening
Back to the park this morning. Saw the heron scratching in short grass beside the pond.
Then I dropped off the big red (and very heavy, very full) Jug O'Pee at the Cancer Center. While waiting for the valet parking service (can you believe it - valet parking for us cancer patients!) I ran into a woman I know from work. I recognized her; I'm not sure she recognized me. She was clearly wearing a wig. When I dropped off the Jug O'Pee in the second floor lab, she was in the second floor blood room, having blood drawn. Obviously she is going through cancer treatment as well. It was a strange experience; I didn't really realize who she was or how I knew her until she had gotten into her car and driven away.
Then I came home and read for a while, and then walked over to the synagogue and attended Rabbi C's funeral service. There were many many people there; family members spoke and several rabbis and congregants. It was a moving service. I knew him only slightly; at the end of the service I realized that I wished I had had the chance to know him better.
At the service an older woman I used to know well when I attended a different synagogue, but haven't seen in 6 or 7 years, happened to be sitting near me. She leaned over with a mask of pity (okay, maybe it was sympathy) on her face and patted my arm. "Is there anything we can do for you, dear? Do you need anything at all? Meals?" I smiled. "No, thank you, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine." I turned away and waited for the service to start. At some point during the service, she slipped out. Funny, how some people's "sympathy" can be the hardest thing of all to bear. Also I was a big confused about how it was that she came to know my situation. It's not that I want the cancer to be a secret, but there are many people in my own congregation that I am much closer to who I havent' had a chance to tell yet, and yet this person knew. I guess it means that the news will get around. I think it might be a universal response to cancer to want to seem to be - and to be treated as - as "normal" as possible for as long as possible. It's one thing to have a disease; it's another thing to BE a disease.
Anyway, that's my day - so far. I"m feeling gradually increasing nervousness about Wednesday. But what can you do? Best news of the day - under our front door this morning was a little note on which our next door neighbor, M, had written "I think my water may have broken; we're on our way to the hospital." M's and R's first baby - they chose NOT to find out if it was going to be a boy or a girl, which I admire. At any rate, we haven't heard from R yet, which could auger a long and hard labor, but I'm hoping just that the baby has been born, and everyone is tired and thrilled, and focused on family. A new life.
How sweet the thought of it.
Peace.
Then I dropped off the big red (and very heavy, very full) Jug O'Pee at the Cancer Center. While waiting for the valet parking service (can you believe it - valet parking for us cancer patients!) I ran into a woman I know from work. I recognized her; I'm not sure she recognized me. She was clearly wearing a wig. When I dropped off the Jug O'Pee in the second floor lab, she was in the second floor blood room, having blood drawn. Obviously she is going through cancer treatment as well. It was a strange experience; I didn't really realize who she was or how I knew her until she had gotten into her car and driven away.
Then I came home and read for a while, and then walked over to the synagogue and attended Rabbi C's funeral service. There were many many people there; family members spoke and several rabbis and congregants. It was a moving service. I knew him only slightly; at the end of the service I realized that I wished I had had the chance to know him better.
At the service an older woman I used to know well when I attended a different synagogue, but haven't seen in 6 or 7 years, happened to be sitting near me. She leaned over with a mask of pity (okay, maybe it was sympathy) on her face and patted my arm. "Is there anything we can do for you, dear? Do you need anything at all? Meals?" I smiled. "No, thank you, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine." I turned away and waited for the service to start. At some point during the service, she slipped out. Funny, how some people's "sympathy" can be the hardest thing of all to bear. Also I was a big confused about how it was that she came to know my situation. It's not that I want the cancer to be a secret, but there are many people in my own congregation that I am much closer to who I havent' had a chance to tell yet, and yet this person knew. I guess it means that the news will get around. I think it might be a universal response to cancer to want to seem to be - and to be treated as - as "normal" as possible for as long as possible. It's one thing to have a disease; it's another thing to BE a disease.
Anyway, that's my day - so far. I"m feeling gradually increasing nervousness about Wednesday. But what can you do? Best news of the day - under our front door this morning was a little note on which our next door neighbor, M, had written "I think my water may have broken; we're on our way to the hospital." M's and R's first baby - they chose NOT to find out if it was going to be a boy or a girl, which I admire. At any rate, we haven't heard from R yet, which could auger a long and hard labor, but I'm hoping just that the baby has been born, and everyone is tired and thrilled, and focused on family. A new life.
How sweet the thought of it.
Peace.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sunday evening
Quiet day -- except for one very bad thing completely unconnected with cancer or health - David's bike was stolen last night, right from the hallway outside our door, with us sleeping inside the apartment. And our great watch dog apparently "watched" (or at least listened assuming the thief/thieves made any noise at all). The bike wasn't locked up; it's been there many a day, many a night over the past several years, without a problem. I guess now it's time to start locking everything up. What a drag. And David built this bike, slowly, lovingly over years, buying parts on eBay and improving it gradually until it was perfect. Rats! Double Rats!
Otherwise, it was a quiet day of peeing in the "hat" and collecting in the jug to deliver to the Cancer Center tomorrow. I was nervous about it - which goes to show you that it is possible to be nervous about anything at all. I'm not sure why I was nervous, or what I expected to go wrong: Miss the "hat"? Not pee enough? Pee too much? Pee wrong color? Forget to put the "hat" in the toilet bowl before I sat down? What? Anyway, the day is almost over and my nervousness has proved (so far) unfounded.
I did not take Jessie to the park this morning, probably because of my fear about the pee collection. Again, not sure what I thought would happen. It is true that I have occasionally used the restroom in Starbuck's when I go there to buy a coffee before we go to the park. But not often. So did I think that if I did go to the park this morning, I would have the irresistible urge to pee at Starbuck's and not make it home to pee in the 'hat"? Don't know. Anyway, I took Jessie for a fairly long walk in the neighborhood this morning. Then late this afternoon, when my nerves were more settled, I took her to the park. A walk in the park on a sunny warm Sunday fall afternoon reminded me of why I so prefer to go early in the morning. Saw the heron, sitting on a different small float, leaning his/her long neck over to the water to nab an early dinner, probably small fishes, but I couldn't see.
I spoke with both kids, Aunt M and Carol, which was good and comforting to me. Tomorrow I drop the big red (literally, the plastic container is red) Jug O'Pee off at the Cancer Center in the morning. I may drop in at my office to pick up something I will need - if / when I ever start working from home - or I may wait to do that on Tuesday. I want to attend funeral services at my synagogue tomorrow mid-day for Rabbi C, z"l, who passed away just before the Jewish Sabbath, 89 years old, may his memory be a blessing for his family and for the entire community who will miss him (including me).
I'm thinking I may go to my Tai Chi class tomorrow night. There are only a couple of parts of our form that I probably shouldn't do 2-weeks post surgery, and I can just skip those. Tai Chi always relaxes me, centers me or something equally touchy-feely As of right now, I am feeling pretty good, more or less at peace. Of course, beneath the calm surface of my heart, brain, soul, there are racing currents of emotion - fear, dread, sadness. I don't want to deny them, or ignore them, but I don't want them controlling me either. I want to construct a boat of calmness and peace and ride those emotions in a positive direction.
Thanks to all of you for your continuing emails, calls, comments, prayers.
Otherwise, it was a quiet day of peeing in the "hat" and collecting in the jug to deliver to the Cancer Center tomorrow. I was nervous about it - which goes to show you that it is possible to be nervous about anything at all. I'm not sure why I was nervous, or what I expected to go wrong: Miss the "hat"? Not pee enough? Pee too much? Pee wrong color? Forget to put the "hat" in the toilet bowl before I sat down? What? Anyway, the day is almost over and my nervousness has proved (so far) unfounded.
I did not take Jessie to the park this morning, probably because of my fear about the pee collection. Again, not sure what I thought would happen. It is true that I have occasionally used the restroom in Starbuck's when I go there to buy a coffee before we go to the park. But not often. So did I think that if I did go to the park this morning, I would have the irresistible urge to pee at Starbuck's and not make it home to pee in the 'hat"? Don't know. Anyway, I took Jessie for a fairly long walk in the neighborhood this morning. Then late this afternoon, when my nerves were more settled, I took her to the park. A walk in the park on a sunny warm Sunday fall afternoon reminded me of why I so prefer to go early in the morning. Saw the heron, sitting on a different small float, leaning his/her long neck over to the water to nab an early dinner, probably small fishes, but I couldn't see.
I spoke with both kids, Aunt M and Carol, which was good and comforting to me. Tomorrow I drop the big red (literally, the plastic container is red) Jug O'Pee off at the Cancer Center in the morning. I may drop in at my office to pick up something I will need - if / when I ever start working from home - or I may wait to do that on Tuesday. I want to attend funeral services at my synagogue tomorrow mid-day for Rabbi C, z"l, who passed away just before the Jewish Sabbath, 89 years old, may his memory be a blessing for his family and for the entire community who will miss him (including me).
I'm thinking I may go to my Tai Chi class tomorrow night. There are only a couple of parts of our form that I probably shouldn't do 2-weeks post surgery, and I can just skip those. Tai Chi always relaxes me, centers me or something equally touchy-feely As of right now, I am feeling pretty good, more or less at peace. Of course, beneath the calm surface of my heart, brain, soul, there are racing currents of emotion - fear, dread, sadness. I don't want to deny them, or ignore them, but I don't want them controlling me either. I want to construct a boat of calmness and peace and ride those emotions in a positive direction.
Thanks to all of you for your continuing emails, calls, comments, prayers.
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