Chemo #4 tomorrow. At this point I realize that what I am anxious about isn't the chemo itself - I have books to read and my iPod and there are always interesting people to talk to and I'm no longer afraid of going into shock and dying on the spot. What I get anxious about is the after effects, not tomorrow night, or even the next night - just whenever they start. What will they be? How severe this time? (And next time? And the time after that?) I realize how lucky I am to only have to go through 6 chemo sessions. There are plenty of people who go through chemo for 6 months, going once a week. Let alone people who go into remission or whose cancer is "cured," only to have it come back again and have to go through chemo again. I am definitely lucky.
Today I went to the cancer center for my pre-chemo blood work. My appointment was at 3:00 p m and I knew that L, one of the women I met at radiation who was undergoing treatment for breast-cancer, had her last appointment today at 3:30 p m. So I stuck around after the blood work and went downstairs to be there when she rang her bell! It was nice to share that moment with her. She told me about a weekend retreat taking place at the end of April, first of May, for cancer survivors at some sort of a resort in Vermont. It is actually free to cancer survivors attending the first time. We're making plans to go, and to try to get M, the other women I met at radiation, to go with us.
I have to manage to stay up until 10:00 pm tonight to take my 5 Decadron pills and get up at 5:00 am tomorrow morning for the next 5. Mmmm.... steroids, yum.
Okay, here we go again.
Peace.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sunday afternoon
A photo from my radiation "graduation" day -- the 3 radiation techs assigned to my case, sitting on gurney in front of "my" zapping machine.
Another -- me "ringing the bell".
My nerves are trying to provoke me, rile me into outright anxiety about chemo on Wednesday. I realize it is not actually the chemo itself that make me anxious, but the after effects. I have a sense of being more "run down" now than when I started the whole process, even though that was after surgery. Anyway, I had my Emend (expensive anti-nausea) prescription refilled. I'm girding my post-Big D loins. I'll be ready.
Peace
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Saturday morning
Jessie and I went to the park this morning! It was brisk, hat weather (especially for those of us with poor bare skulls), but not wrap-up-in-scarf-and-still-freeze-your-face weather. In fact it feels - although I'm cynical and don't want to count on this feeling - as if the corner between winter and spring may have finally been reached if not yet turned. There were more birds singing their morning songs. I heard a woodpecker, but couldn't see it where it perched high up in a pine tree, to tell what kind. A mourning dove's morose song reached me (but mourning doves stay through the winter). Squirrels abounded, appearing to delight in tormenting Jessie. A significant patch of the thick, yellowing ice on the smaller pond had melted through and the gun metal shaded water was visible. Could it be? Will spring actually arrive? On the way home, a flock of Canada geese - someone told me, J was it you? - that Canadian goose is a misnomer, the actual scientific common name of the bird is Canada goose - anyway, a V-formation of them flew overhead, heading north. A sign.
Peace.
Peace.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Friday evening
Dr. R called today. She and Dr. VR got their stories straight. The result - it's Chemo #4 for me next Wednesday, Feb. 24th. Blood work on Tues, Feb. 23rd. NuLasta shot on Thursday, Feb. 25th. It will be ... interesting to see if I can keep up my work schedule - more or less - over the next 6 or 7 weeks. Here we go again.
Meanwhile, I have finished a draft of what I"m calling "What I've Learned (So Far) From Cancer." It's a letter to myself. but I thik I'll share it here. Probably tomorrow.
Peace.
Meanwhile, I have finished a draft of what I"m calling "What I've Learned (So Far) From Cancer." It's a letter to myself. but I thik I'll share it here. Probably tomorrow.
Peace.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday night
25 zaps down. 0 zaps to go! Well, I rang that bell and I rang it hard, 3 times. So hard it double-rang - clapper on both sides of the bell - and scared people. I received my graduation "diploma" and took photos with the radiation techs and others. There's a good one of the 3 techs who worked with me most of the time sitting on the gurney I lay down on every day, in front of the giant radiation machine. And there's one of me with the bell. As soon as I can get them uploaded to my laptop, I'll post a couple here.
I had met with Dr. R earlier that day; it was good to see her, reminded me of why I like her. She said she needed to talk to Dr. VR, the radiation oncologist, about when I could start chemo. But I'd seen him only the day before and he said she would decide. Who's on first? Oh well, they'll figure it out. Meantime, I don't yet have a start date for chemo but I can live with that. For good measure, I had one last visit from the Big D that day. Since then, so far, so good.
I'm working on a thing I'm calling What I've Learned From Cancer (So Far). When it's a little further along, I'll share it here, maybe in pieces.
Meanwhile, it's back to 9 hour work days and settling in to feeling "normal". I'm looking forward to the weekend, the park and my walks with Jessie.
Thanks to all who wrote, called, commented and generally encouraged me to ring that bell. I rang it for you, too.
Peace
I had met with Dr. R earlier that day; it was good to see her, reminded me of why I like her. She said she needed to talk to Dr. VR, the radiation oncologist, about when I could start chemo. But I'd seen him only the day before and he said she would decide. Who's on first? Oh well, they'll figure it out. Meantime, I don't yet have a start date for chemo but I can live with that. For good measure, I had one last visit from the Big D that day. Since then, so far, so good.
I'm working on a thing I'm calling What I've Learned From Cancer (So Far). When it's a little further along, I'll share it here, maybe in pieces.
Meanwhile, it's back to 9 hour work days and settling in to feeling "normal". I'm looking forward to the weekend, the park and my walks with Jessie.
Thanks to all who wrote, called, commented and generally encouraged me to ring that bell. I rang it for you, too.
Peace
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Tuesday morning
24 zaps down, 1 lousy zap to go.
Thanks to all for your support through this seemingly endless radiation therapy. I saw Dr. VR yesterday. He told me I should do something "celebrate". I told him that's hard to do when I'm seeing Dr. R today and finding out when chemo starts again. I will miss the group of radiation techs. They are competent, positive and fun, while always being kind. I'll miss the two women I got to know somewhat - L and M. Maybe it was the regularity of seeing them every day, even if for just a brief time. Dr. VR said the radiation side effects - diarrhea, more frequent urination and tiredness - will gradually improve. I wonder how gradually.
Today is my last day of parking; tomorrow I go back to riding the bus and to regular work days. I think for a while I"m going to try to work true 8 hour days - meaning probably 9 hours, to account for lunch.
Human beings are weird. We are - perhaps by genetic makeup - so instinctively conservative. However things are for us, we may complain about our present circumstances but we get used to them, and we view change with trepidation. So chemo was scary to me until I went through it, and then it was bad, but it began to seem "normal" when it was time to move on and face radiation which I hadn't experienced and so seemed worse, and now radiation has come to seem "normal" and its side effects are at least familiar. Viscerally I feel the cells of my body calling out to me, Hey! You! Let's just leave things as they are! Nope. Gotta kill any of those cancer cells trying to do an Osama Bin Laden and use my body parts as the mountains of Pakistan. We'll hunt you down and wipe you out.
I'm gonna ring that bell today after my last radiation treatment, but not just for me, but for all people with cancer. Hey cancer cells everywhere, hey tumors - we're gonna get you!
Otherwise, peace.
Thanks to all for your support through this seemingly endless radiation therapy. I saw Dr. VR yesterday. He told me I should do something "celebrate". I told him that's hard to do when I'm seeing Dr. R today and finding out when chemo starts again. I will miss the group of radiation techs. They are competent, positive and fun, while always being kind. I'll miss the two women I got to know somewhat - L and M. Maybe it was the regularity of seeing them every day, even if for just a brief time. Dr. VR said the radiation side effects - diarrhea, more frequent urination and tiredness - will gradually improve. I wonder how gradually.
Today is my last day of parking; tomorrow I go back to riding the bus and to regular work days. I think for a while I"m going to try to work true 8 hour days - meaning probably 9 hours, to account for lunch.
Human beings are weird. We are - perhaps by genetic makeup - so instinctively conservative. However things are for us, we may complain about our present circumstances but we get used to them, and we view change with trepidation. So chemo was scary to me until I went through it, and then it was bad, but it began to seem "normal" when it was time to move on and face radiation which I hadn't experienced and so seemed worse, and now radiation has come to seem "normal" and its side effects are at least familiar. Viscerally I feel the cells of my body calling out to me, Hey! You! Let's just leave things as they are! Nope. Gotta kill any of those cancer cells trying to do an Osama Bin Laden and use my body parts as the mountains of Pakistan. We'll hunt you down and wipe you out.
I'm gonna ring that bell today after my last radiation treatment, but not just for me, but for all people with cancer. Hey cancer cells everywhere, hey tumors - we're gonna get you!
Otherwise, peace.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thursday evening
22 zaps down!!! 3 zaps to go!
I have been feeling better - though not perfect - since taking Imodium on Sunday. Big D seems to have moved on and, if anything, the opposite problem seems to be lurking. Man what a sign of getting old... to have to spend so much time thinking about, worrying about, dealing with and even - sorry - sharing all of the foregoing - about your own bowels. Geez. There is a Jewish prayer that traditionalists say every morning as well as after every use of the toilet that thanks god for creating man with "many openings and cavities," going on to say that "It is obvious and known before your throne of glory that if but one of them (those openings and cavities) were to be ruptured or but one of them were to be blocked it would be impossible to survive and to stand before you." Ain't that the truth!?!
My radiation schedule was changed this week - yesterday I went in at 7:30 am because we were supposed to get a snow storm - 8 - 16 inches they said. The whole state freaked out. In the end we got 3 inches or so where I live although I think down on the shore they got 4 - 6.
I learned that when you finish your radiation treatment, there is an old-fashioned bell - the kind you pull a rope to ring - across from the nurses' station on the radiation floor that you are supposed to pull. That tells everyone in the department that another patient has finished his or her treatment. They all come out of the woodwork and applaud you. And you are handed some kind of little scroll, like a diploma. Of course, my "graduate school" is another round of chemotherapy, but I will be glad to put the radiation behind me.
I think the main thing about the radiation treatment that makes it handleable (if that's a word) is that each day it only takes 5-10 minutes. It's possible to relax, deep breathe, and frankly just avoid thinking about the giant machine that is rotating around you for that short period of time. It zaps you from below, then from the left, then from the top, and finally from the right. You can hear it whirring while it's working. I always wonder if the whirring is a person pushing a button for some period of time, or if the machine has automatic settings - this patient gets 8 seconds of zap, that one gets 12 seconds of zap. I wonder, because the length of the whirring doesn't always seem to be the same. I've even tried to count to see if the side zaps are longer than the top and bottom zaps. I guess I could ask, but I think the whole thing is just an exercise I go through to keep my mind occupied during the zapping. The room in which the zap machine is located has panels painted with peaceful woodland type scenes on them all around the top 2+ feet of the ceiling. So when you lay back to be zapped, and look up, you see woodland scenes above you in every direction.
I had been going to radiation for 10 days or so before I realized how big the room was, and the other stuff that was in it. All I saw before then - and really all I ever look at still - is the table I lay on, the machine, and those woodland scenes. I have made 2 friends through the 22 radiation treatments - M and L, the two women with breast cancer whose appointments are at or around the same time as mine - and we've agreed to stay in touch after the treatments are over. M is from Atlanta originally.
Anyway, I'm doing okay. Perhaps beginning to sense a rising .... emotion (not sure what emotion at this point) in response to the knowledge that Chemo is Coming. Maybe a week or two break between radiation and chemo isn't a terrible idea after all.
Peace.
I have been feeling better - though not perfect - since taking Imodium on Sunday. Big D seems to have moved on and, if anything, the opposite problem seems to be lurking. Man what a sign of getting old... to have to spend so much time thinking about, worrying about, dealing with and even - sorry - sharing all of the foregoing - about your own bowels. Geez. There is a Jewish prayer that traditionalists say every morning as well as after every use of the toilet that thanks god for creating man with "many openings and cavities," going on to say that "It is obvious and known before your throne of glory that if but one of them (those openings and cavities) were to be ruptured or but one of them were to be blocked it would be impossible to survive and to stand before you." Ain't that the truth!?!
My radiation schedule was changed this week - yesterday I went in at 7:30 am because we were supposed to get a snow storm - 8 - 16 inches they said. The whole state freaked out. In the end we got 3 inches or so where I live although I think down on the shore they got 4 - 6.
I learned that when you finish your radiation treatment, there is an old-fashioned bell - the kind you pull a rope to ring - across from the nurses' station on the radiation floor that you are supposed to pull. That tells everyone in the department that another patient has finished his or her treatment. They all come out of the woodwork and applaud you. And you are handed some kind of little scroll, like a diploma. Of course, my "graduate school" is another round of chemotherapy, but I will be glad to put the radiation behind me.
I think the main thing about the radiation treatment that makes it handleable (if that's a word) is that each day it only takes 5-10 minutes. It's possible to relax, deep breathe, and frankly just avoid thinking about the giant machine that is rotating around you for that short period of time. It zaps you from below, then from the left, then from the top, and finally from the right. You can hear it whirring while it's working. I always wonder if the whirring is a person pushing a button for some period of time, or if the machine has automatic settings - this patient gets 8 seconds of zap, that one gets 12 seconds of zap. I wonder, because the length of the whirring doesn't always seem to be the same. I've even tried to count to see if the side zaps are longer than the top and bottom zaps. I guess I could ask, but I think the whole thing is just an exercise I go through to keep my mind occupied during the zapping. The room in which the zap machine is located has panels painted with peaceful woodland type scenes on them all around the top 2+ feet of the ceiling. So when you lay back to be zapped, and look up, you see woodland scenes above you in every direction.
I had been going to radiation for 10 days or so before I realized how big the room was, and the other stuff that was in it. All I saw before then - and really all I ever look at still - is the table I lay on, the machine, and those woodland scenes. I have made 2 friends through the 22 radiation treatments - M and L, the two women with breast cancer whose appointments are at or around the same time as mine - and we've agreed to stay in touch after the treatments are over. M is from Atlanta originally.
Anyway, I'm doing okay. Perhaps beginning to sense a rising .... emotion (not sure what emotion at this point) in response to the knowledge that Chemo is Coming. Maybe a week or two break between radiation and chemo isn't a terrible idea after all.
Peace.
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