Made it. Chemo #6 is history. Now to make it through the down-slide of side effects...
As usual, chemo itself not hard, except it started late meaning it ended late. (Best thing about the day was a lovely longish coffee-breakfast with V who kindly drove me to the Cancer Center.) Then work was especially hectic on Thursday and Friday after the chemo, and I was in my post-chemo combo state of too-much-caffeine shakes, physical weakness, incredible tiredness, fuzzy thinking (they call it chemo brain). On Thursday I forgot to bring my Emend pill - $100 anti nausea med - with me to work which I needed to take at 8:00 am. I tried to find someone around to drive me home to get it so I wouldn't have to wake David and wouldn't have to take the bus home and back to work. Couldn't find anyone at work and available. I ended up reaching David and he brought it to me, which I felt bad about because it likely screwed up his day-time sleeping schedule, which is hard enough for him. Anyway, Thursday and Friday were a hard couple of days. Going home and asleep by 7:45-8:00 p.m. I did get to take Jessie to the park on Wed, day of the chemo, and again Friday, because my NuLasta shot was scheduled for Friday at 9:30 a.m., and we made it again today. None of these walks were particularly noteworthy - weather changing over to rainy and then yesterday and today cold. But we got out there. Mallard couples nesting in dry leaves on the pond shore. Unattached males drifting around. No heron. No muskrat. Even the birds seemed subdued but maybe it was how I heard them rather than how they sang.
Last night Jessie woke me up in the middle of the night - which she sometimes does - seeming to ask to go out. I just couldn't get up. Then I heard her throwing up so I did get up. Cleaned up after her and took her out - 2:30 a.m. She seemed fine and had no more problems, but when we got home, I couldn't go back to sleep. I read for an hour and went back to bed at 3:30 a.m. Then was up at 6:30 and we went to the park.
Anyway, I appreciate the calls and notes of support from friends sending congratulations to me for completing the chemo, but right now I am still focused on getting through the next 3-5 days. Some bone pain, handled with Motrin last night. Maybe it's my imagination, but each post-chemo slide does seem/feel harder. Time to nap. More later maybe.
Peace.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Sunday morning
Well, I didn't get up early enough and we got to the park again at 7:00 am. Again, perhaps because it was Sunday, there were already quite a few other people there: walkers, runners, people with dogs. At any rate, no heron this morning. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps the heron I saw was not "my" heron but another, stopping at our pond for a break on its way further north. Which might mean that "my" heron is yet to arrive (Crazy L might turn out to be right, after all - she might not return until after my last chemo!) Of course, the Mallard couples, some Canada geese, and many many birds were going about their morning routines. We walked both loops of the park. I actually saw two gray squirrels engaged in ... well, mating. Interestingly, they engaged in foreplay. Some mutual grooming with their little hand-like forepaws, and licking each other's heads and shoulders. I'm not kidding. And then, one on top of the other, from behind, grasping her with those little paws. Squirrels!
Here's what I thought about today. I've lived in this city for more than 10 years. I've been to this park many many MANY times over that period. Of course, never with the regularity and at the consistently early hour that has been the case over the past 9 or 10 months. But I have spent many hours walking the paths of this park. But until last year when I began coming early in the morning, and especially after my cancer diagnosis, when these morning walks became somehow precious to me, I really can say that I walked through the park but not IN the park so the park didn't get IN me. Now, every time I am in the park I am paying attention to being there. And what's amazing is that day after day, week after week, month after month of going to the same place, and pretty much doing the same thing, there is always more to see, more to experience, more to learn, more to feel. Now that I am paying attention, the so-called "familiar" is actually deep uncharted territory.
Before; I treated time in the park the way we tend to treat a familiar drive made by car, where we might choose to drive a country road because it is more pleasant than a highway, but still it is just something done to get from one place to another that allowed me to think about other things. I wasn't paying attention. I was there in the same park walking the same paths by the same pond where presumably the same creatures live ... but I was not really "there." It occurred to me this morning that this is a metaphor for how I also have so often lived my life. I have just passed through it, without paying attention. But all the wondrous things I have discovered in this city park and its small universe also suggest that my life and its familiar routines are likely also filled with wonders should I just begin to pay attention. Harder to do on the scale of an entire life than on a morning walk, but likely also worth it.
My last (my LAST!) chemo is Wednesday at 10:00 - well, my appointment with Dr. R's PA - Dr R is apparently unavailable, for which I am sorry; I like seeing her - is 10 a.m. That probably means the pre-chemo drugs will be given to me about 11:00 or a little later, which means chemo would start around noon. At any rate, the late start should mean (especially since I have to get up at 5:00 a.m. to take the Decadron) that Jessie and I can make it to the park on Wed. morning! V has offered to take me to chemo, and we'll have coffee first. (I still remember Nurse E telling me to "eat breakfast" on the day of chemo; they have such faith - with good reason - in the new anti-nausea medication that they want you to eat!)
For some reason I find myself very nervous about this last chemo. I've tried to think about it and the only things I come up with are that the last couple chemos were harder, so I dread this last one being harder still, and the other thing - which I've mentioned before - being my odd reluctance to end the protective custody of cancer treatment where I have definitely felt that - as uncomfortable as "treatment" can be, at least cancer isn't getting me. In any event, treatment and these fears of treatment will soon be behind me. I am glad, though, that Jessie and I can likely get to the park on the morning of the last chemo. Ironically that fact makes me actually look forward to Wednesday.
Peace.
Here's what I thought about today. I've lived in this city for more than 10 years. I've been to this park many many MANY times over that period. Of course, never with the regularity and at the consistently early hour that has been the case over the past 9 or 10 months. But I have spent many hours walking the paths of this park. But until last year when I began coming early in the morning, and especially after my cancer diagnosis, when these morning walks became somehow precious to me, I really can say that I walked through the park but not IN the park so the park didn't get IN me. Now, every time I am in the park I am paying attention to being there. And what's amazing is that day after day, week after week, month after month of going to the same place, and pretty much doing the same thing, there is always more to see, more to experience, more to learn, more to feel. Now that I am paying attention, the so-called "familiar" is actually deep uncharted territory.
Before; I treated time in the park the way we tend to treat a familiar drive made by car, where we might choose to drive a country road because it is more pleasant than a highway, but still it is just something done to get from one place to another that allowed me to think about other things. I wasn't paying attention. I was there in the same park walking the same paths by the same pond where presumably the same creatures live ... but I was not really "there." It occurred to me this morning that this is a metaphor for how I also have so often lived my life. I have just passed through it, without paying attention. But all the wondrous things I have discovered in this city park and its small universe also suggest that my life and its familiar routines are likely also filled with wonders should I just begin to pay attention. Harder to do on the scale of an entire life than on a morning walk, but likely also worth it.
My last (my LAST!) chemo is Wednesday at 10:00 - well, my appointment with Dr. R's PA - Dr R is apparently unavailable, for which I am sorry; I like seeing her - is 10 a.m. That probably means the pre-chemo drugs will be given to me about 11:00 or a little later, which means chemo would start around noon. At any rate, the late start should mean (especially since I have to get up at 5:00 a.m. to take the Decadron) that Jessie and I can make it to the park on Wed. morning! V has offered to take me to chemo, and we'll have coffee first. (I still remember Nurse E telling me to "eat breakfast" on the day of chemo; they have such faith - with good reason - in the new anti-nausea medication that they want you to eat!)
For some reason I find myself very nervous about this last chemo. I've tried to think about it and the only things I come up with are that the last couple chemos were harder, so I dread this last one being harder still, and the other thing - which I've mentioned before - being my odd reluctance to end the protective custody of cancer treatment where I have definitely felt that - as uncomfortable as "treatment" can be, at least cancer isn't getting me. In any event, treatment and these fears of treatment will soon be behind me. I am glad, though, that Jessie and I can likely get to the park on the morning of the last chemo. Ironically that fact makes me actually look forward to Wednesday.
Peace.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Saturday morning
The heron wasn't at the pond this morning. I'm not sure what that means. Perhaps I missed her, although Jessie and I walked by the pond several times and also made our very soggy way around it entirely. No heron. Perhaps the heron I saw before was not "my" heron, but another one just passing through. Perhaps it was "my" heron but she has decided that our pond is no longer a good place. Too soon to tell. Perhaps I just missed her; that seems the most likely.
Of course many Mallard couples were out and about. And one Canada goose landed on the pond and, paddling in a small circle, called out slowly and loudly over and over "Honk! Honk! Honk!" Punctuated by rapid calls: "Honk-Honk-Honk-Honk-Honk!!!" As if he (or she - they seem to look alike) were shouting: "Hey! Where is everyone? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?" I actually called out to him/her: "Calm down! They're around; they'll be back." It didn't seem to comfort him/her.
I saw what I think was the same red winged blackbird again; heard him first, saw him in the same tree again, its round branches now almost covered with small spring leaves, hanging down in a rounded hump looking like green dreadlocks. I also saw a pair of hawks, still not entirely sure what kind - probably either red tailed hawks (which are common around here) or red shouldered hawks. It appears they may have made a nest in our park. That would be neat. And then many many other birds, calling, singing. No muskrat this morning. We probably got there too late (7:00 am this morning). Maybe I'll be able to get up earlier tomorrow and see who's around just as the sun peeks over the horizon. That would be good.
This past week was a good week for me; I felt better every day. This despite daily doses of matzo (or even perhaps because of them?). I did go to the community seder at my synagogue on Tuesday night It was difficult for me mostly because it didn't start until 8 pm which is close to my normal bedtime. We didn't start eating until 9:45. My friend D kindly left "early" (11:15 pm) to bring me home. I guess I got to bed by midnight. It took me 3 nights, counting that one, of sleep to get back to feeling normal.
Yesterday I called in the LAST refills on my prescriptions for Emend (the $100/pill anti-nausea drug) and Decadron (steroid) to get me through the last chemo, which is next Wed., April 7th. I do want the chemo to be over with, but I'm still not rushing to go through it either. And the CT scan with its requirement to imbibe that nasty (mocha - yum - yuck) barium cocktail sits there just a couple of weeks later, hanging over post-treatment emotions like a big black cloud.
But today is beautiful. The sun shines, promises to warm the day and maybe the heart, too. The still spongy ground is absorbing the incredible amount of rain we had and brittle brown grass is greening. The trees must be drunk on all that rain, and are bursting out leaves everywhere. The bird crowd certainly seems celebratory. Hey, why not?
Peace.
Of course many Mallard couples were out and about. And one Canada goose landed on the pond and, paddling in a small circle, called out slowly and loudly over and over "Honk! Honk! Honk!" Punctuated by rapid calls: "Honk-Honk-Honk-Honk-Honk!!!" As if he (or she - they seem to look alike) were shouting: "Hey! Where is everyone? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?" I actually called out to him/her: "Calm down! They're around; they'll be back." It didn't seem to comfort him/her.
I saw what I think was the same red winged blackbird again; heard him first, saw him in the same tree again, its round branches now almost covered with small spring leaves, hanging down in a rounded hump looking like green dreadlocks. I also saw a pair of hawks, still not entirely sure what kind - probably either red tailed hawks (which are common around here) or red shouldered hawks. It appears they may have made a nest in our park. That would be neat. And then many many other birds, calling, singing. No muskrat this morning. We probably got there too late (7:00 am this morning). Maybe I'll be able to get up earlier tomorrow and see who's around just as the sun peeks over the horizon. That would be good.
This past week was a good week for me; I felt better every day. This despite daily doses of matzo (or even perhaps because of them?). I did go to the community seder at my synagogue on Tuesday night It was difficult for me mostly because it didn't start until 8 pm which is close to my normal bedtime. We didn't start eating until 9:45. My friend D kindly left "early" (11:15 pm) to bring me home. I guess I got to bed by midnight. It took me 3 nights, counting that one, of sleep to get back to feeling normal.
Yesterday I called in the LAST refills on my prescriptions for Emend (the $100/pill anti-nausea drug) and Decadron (steroid) to get me through the last chemo, which is next Wed., April 7th. I do want the chemo to be over with, but I'm still not rushing to go through it either. And the CT scan with its requirement to imbibe that nasty (mocha - yum - yuck) barium cocktail sits there just a couple of weeks later, hanging over post-treatment emotions like a big black cloud.
But today is beautiful. The sun shines, promises to warm the day and maybe the heart, too. The still spongy ground is absorbing the incredible amount of rain we had and brittle brown grass is greening. The trees must be drunk on all that rain, and are bursting out leaves everywhere. The bird crowd certainly seems celebratory. Hey, why not?
Peace.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday morning
Back to the park this morning, but a foreshortened walk as the Big D came knocking. I did not see the heron, but I am not concerned. She is there. Many birds calling. Although we arrived at the same time as yesterday, perhaps because it was Sunday there were quite a few more people. That just means I have to get up earlier, be there when the sun is actually rising. I did see a hawk in a tree, recognizing it as a bird of prey by its silhouette, but not able to tell what kind of hawk or possibly harrier. It was calling its short rasping call over and over. What a wimpy call. Like a whimpering puppy.
I joined M yesterday afternoon to see her granddaughter in her middle school yearly theatrical production. S was great and the production was fun. Seeing more than 100 sixth through eighth graders singing, dancing, acting, remembering lines and generally appearing to have a good time was a life affirming activity for me.
I am bald again. Actually I think more bald than the first time. Yet there is this disgusting little ... fuzz stuff. Not quite hair, but keeping my skull from that nice shiny real "bald" look. It's the fuzz that gives me the Uncle Fester look (combined with my glasses). I guess I could shave my head, but that seems extreme. It's funny but I miss my 3/8" re-grown hair more than my old "normal" hair. When this is over (wow - first time I think I may have written those words: "when this is over") - when this is over and my hair again starts to re-grow, when it gets back to at least where it was before this second round of chemo, about 3/8" or slightly more, I'm taking off the scarves, hats etc. and going about with that as my new "haircut".
This week is Passover--first seder Monday night, second seder Tuesday night. It's been a while since I really "looked forward" to Passover, and can't say that I am this year. However, if the Big D is still loitering in my vicinity, then a few days of matzo ought to do him in. I've signed up to go to the community seder at my synagogue, at my friend D's suggestion. She's still recovering from back surgery. We're going to go and hang out and try to have some fun. Likely easier for D since she can comply with the Passover injunction to consume 4 glasses of wine, while I still have to stick to grape juice. But it will be fun to watch her get a little sloshed, and even egg her on a bit.
Then one more week and Chemo #6. Even though it will be wonderful to know it is the LAST one, I still am not in any hurry to get to it. I basically just dread it. I have so much respect - increasing as I go through this myself - for people with cancer whose treatment protocols call for them to go through much much more intensive chemotherapy than I've had to do. My ex husband, S, had to go through 5 months of chemo, every month like this: week 1 - chemo type 1, week 2 - chemo type 1, week 3 - chemo type 2 - week 4 - off, and then all over again. 3 chemos every month. As he went along, his blood counts worsened, and they were unable to do every chemo every week. He'd have to wait longer, for his counts to come back up. So instead of 5 months, it took more like 7 or 7 and a half months. My protocol of 6 chemos, each 3 weeks apart, seems like heaven. At the same time, it has been a cumulative experience - physically wearing me down and, I am beginning to recognize - psychologically wearing me down, too. The first time I was just petrified: not knowing what to expect, thinking my hair would fall out over night and I'd spend days throwing up in the toilet or something like that. As I get close to finishing, friends seem to assume I can't wait to go through Chemo #6 to "get it over with." But that's not how it feels to me. It's still something I HAVE to do, and will do, but my feeling is I can certainly wait every day, every hour until I actually MUST go through it one last time.
The sun seems to be coming out. There's a nice March zing of chill in the air. Perhaps human beings will wake up all over the planet today and be kinder to one another. I'll try.
Peace.
I joined M yesterday afternoon to see her granddaughter in her middle school yearly theatrical production. S was great and the production was fun. Seeing more than 100 sixth through eighth graders singing, dancing, acting, remembering lines and generally appearing to have a good time was a life affirming activity for me.
I am bald again. Actually I think more bald than the first time. Yet there is this disgusting little ... fuzz stuff. Not quite hair, but keeping my skull from that nice shiny real "bald" look. It's the fuzz that gives me the Uncle Fester look (combined with my glasses). I guess I could shave my head, but that seems extreme. It's funny but I miss my 3/8" re-grown hair more than my old "normal" hair. When this is over (wow - first time I think I may have written those words: "when this is over") - when this is over and my hair again starts to re-grow, when it gets back to at least where it was before this second round of chemo, about 3/8" or slightly more, I'm taking off the scarves, hats etc. and going about with that as my new "haircut".
This week is Passover--first seder Monday night, second seder Tuesday night. It's been a while since I really "looked forward" to Passover, and can't say that I am this year. However, if the Big D is still loitering in my vicinity, then a few days of matzo ought to do him in. I've signed up to go to the community seder at my synagogue, at my friend D's suggestion. She's still recovering from back surgery. We're going to go and hang out and try to have some fun. Likely easier for D since she can comply with the Passover injunction to consume 4 glasses of wine, while I still have to stick to grape juice. But it will be fun to watch her get a little sloshed, and even egg her on a bit.
Then one more week and Chemo #6. Even though it will be wonderful to know it is the LAST one, I still am not in any hurry to get to it. I basically just dread it. I have so much respect - increasing as I go through this myself - for people with cancer whose treatment protocols call for them to go through much much more intensive chemotherapy than I've had to do. My ex husband, S, had to go through 5 months of chemo, every month like this: week 1 - chemo type 1, week 2 - chemo type 1, week 3 - chemo type 2 - week 4 - off, and then all over again. 3 chemos every month. As he went along, his blood counts worsened, and they were unable to do every chemo every week. He'd have to wait longer, for his counts to come back up. So instead of 5 months, it took more like 7 or 7 and a half months. My protocol of 6 chemos, each 3 weeks apart, seems like heaven. At the same time, it has been a cumulative experience - physically wearing me down and, I am beginning to recognize - psychologically wearing me down, too. The first time I was just petrified: not knowing what to expect, thinking my hair would fall out over night and I'd spend days throwing up in the toilet or something like that. As I get close to finishing, friends seem to assume I can't wait to go through Chemo #6 to "get it over with." But that's not how it feels to me. It's still something I HAVE to do, and will do, but my feeling is I can certainly wait every day, every hour until I actually MUST go through it one last time.
The sun seems to be coming out. There's a nice March zing of chill in the air. Perhaps human beings will wake up all over the planet today and be kinder to one another. I'll try.
Peace.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Saturday morning
Back! She is back!
The heron is back at the pond, looking bigger and more beautifully blue-grey. I am convinced that last year she was a juvenile. Now she looks full grown. Jessie and I had finished our walk - we walked both loops this morning, something I haven't done in quite some time. The pond looked so pretty in the early sun, I decided to walk back to it and sit on a bench for a little while in the sun. And there she was! Ironically the heron picked the coldest day we've had in March to reappear. There was a skim of ice on puddles throughout the park - and there were a lot of big puddles because of all the rain we've had. She stood in place almost directly across from the bench I sat on - slowly swiveling her elegant head almost 180 degrees as she kept an eye on things. Her yellow beak stood out, long and sharp. She seems much bigger than last fall. But I have to believe it is the same heron. We sat and watched her a while.
A pair of mallards in the pond near us became nervous about Jessie - not knowing that I would have to pick her up and throw her bodily into the pond for her to get near them, given her Labrador Recliner attitude about water - and swam slowly away. I heard a bird calling nearby and, based on the "Birding by Ear" CD I've been listening to, thought "that's a red winged blackbird". And sure enough, I saw a black bird perched at the top bare branches of a small rounded tree nearby. Suddenly it flew across the pond, flashing the red on its wings.
Then the heron began walking slowing around the pond's edge. When she walks, her long neck stretches out to lead her, her head bobs ever so slightly, calling to mind a large green elegant chicken. Her movement must have caught Jessie's eye because Jessie sat down and stared across the pond, seeming to follow the heron's movement around the pond. We watched until she "disappeared" behind a tangled bramble of bare branches in a thicket of small trees and bushes directly across from us. It was chilly but sunny, birds called out from every side of us, pairs of ducks swam slowly and quietly in the pond, which glowed silver in the early sun. A pair of Canada geese sat in the greening grass across the pond, a few yards from the bramble that hid the heron. Finally I decided I could leave. It was a perfect moment. I cried as we walked back to the car because I felt so full of hope and joy.
Peace.
The heron is back at the pond, looking bigger and more beautifully blue-grey. I am convinced that last year she was a juvenile. Now she looks full grown. Jessie and I had finished our walk - we walked both loops this morning, something I haven't done in quite some time. The pond looked so pretty in the early sun, I decided to walk back to it and sit on a bench for a little while in the sun. And there she was! Ironically the heron picked the coldest day we've had in March to reappear. There was a skim of ice on puddles throughout the park - and there were a lot of big puddles because of all the rain we've had. She stood in place almost directly across from the bench I sat on - slowly swiveling her elegant head almost 180 degrees as she kept an eye on things. Her yellow beak stood out, long and sharp. She seems much bigger than last fall. But I have to believe it is the same heron. We sat and watched her a while.
A pair of mallards in the pond near us became nervous about Jessie - not knowing that I would have to pick her up and throw her bodily into the pond for her to get near them, given her Labrador Recliner attitude about water - and swam slowly away. I heard a bird calling nearby and, based on the "Birding by Ear" CD I've been listening to, thought "that's a red winged blackbird". And sure enough, I saw a black bird perched at the top bare branches of a small rounded tree nearby. Suddenly it flew across the pond, flashing the red on its wings.
Then the heron began walking slowing around the pond's edge. When she walks, her long neck stretches out to lead her, her head bobs ever so slightly, calling to mind a large green elegant chicken. Her movement must have caught Jessie's eye because Jessie sat down and stared across the pond, seeming to follow the heron's movement around the pond. We watched until she "disappeared" behind a tangled bramble of bare branches in a thicket of small trees and bushes directly across from us. It was chilly but sunny, birds called out from every side of us, pairs of ducks swam slowly and quietly in the pond, which glowed silver in the early sun. A pair of Canada geese sat in the greening grass across the pond, a few yards from the bramble that hid the heron. Finally I decided I could leave. It was a perfect moment. I cried as we walked back to the car because I felt so full of hope and joy.
Peace.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday night
Made it through the rest of the week. Good blood counts today. Looking forward to the park tomorrow.
Why didn't someone reading this - assuming there is still someone reading this - point out the weirdness of my worrying about my "bowls" (rather than bowels), as in "Geez, I really hate having to bring up intestinal issues yet again, but my BOWLS just can't get their act together." Well, my bowls are doing fine and my bowels are better, too.
Peace. Justice. Spring. Hope. For every living thing on the planet.
Why didn't someone reading this - assuming there is still someone reading this - point out the weirdness of my worrying about my "bowls" (rather than bowels), as in "Geez, I really hate having to bring up intestinal issues yet again, but my BOWLS just can't get their act together." Well, my bowls are doing fine and my bowels are better, too.
Peace. Justice. Spring. Hope. For every living thing on the planet.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Wednesday evening
Well, I think I "wrote" too soon on Sunday -- the after effects of Chemo #5 hadn't quite hit me head on yet when I last posted. I did have a very good morning on Sunday, including Jessie and my walk in the park. But by later in the afternoon, I wasn't feeling very well at all. One problem was constipation. (Geez, I really hate having to bring up intestinal issues yet again, but my bowls just can't get their act together.) I took my "normal" Senna plant-based laxative in the evening with the other B vitamins and magnesium that I'm supposed to take every day. I also just felt exhausted.
Even so I decided to go in to work on Monday because there was a big meeting scheduled for 3:00 pm (who schedules a meeting at 3:00 pm???) which sort of represented the culmination of a long-term project I've been involved actively in. I thought I should be there to answer questions, and I also sort of wanted to see the final results of this 18 month effort (by me but also by many many other people). So anyway, I dragged myself in to the office ... and I felt really terrible. The Big C turned into the Big D by mid day. I was tired, but also weak (I have discovered the crucial difference between been "tired" or "fatigued," on the one hand, and being "weak" on the other hand). I made it through the day and to the afternoon meeting, but barely. Thankfully, K offered to give me a ride home - she was at the meeting also and leaving from there - and that was a big help. I basically collapsed when I got home, slept another 11 - 12 hours. No Tai Chi that night (which makes me sad - that's 4 weeks I've missed, 2 times after Chemo #4 when I was so sick with the chemo effects and the cold, 1 time because of being in Nashville, and again this past Monday. Hopefully next week I'll get back.)
Tuesday I felt better, not quite "right" but better. I managed to get through the day at work much better. Diarrhea was better. Food still tasting "off" but not quite as weird as Sunday night and Monday. Still tired, but less "weak." (One side effect I haven't written too much about, which apparently can be quite serious, is neuropathy in the extremities. One of the chemo drugs - I forget which one, can cause your fingers and toes and feet to tingle or become numb. For me it has gotten progressively worse in my left foot in particular after every chemo. I did have some numbness in 3 finger tips on my left hand after the first few chemos, but that has stopped. After this last chemo, my left foot now feels as if 1/4" of the bottom of the ball of my left foot and 3 of the toes are all "asleep". It's a really odd feeling walking around that way. In the past it has always gone away - or gone away 90-95% by the next chemo - and over the "break" when I had radiation, all the numbness went away. Hopefully this too will pass.)
And today I felt significantly better.
It's weird how there is a very specific and concrete cycle to the chemo side effects. I've been saying that "Monday is the worst day" and by god, it sure is/was. Well, there should only be one more bad Monday to go.
Thanks to all who checked on me. I survived. Blood counts on Friday this week.
It finally stopped raining, although it was March wind chilly today. But the sun was out. And the days are perceptibly lengthening. Daffodils are lifting up yellow heads through the damp ground in neighbors' yards. I saw a cherry tree's blossoms opening on the way home from the bus stop today. Spring is springing. Hurray.
Peace.
Even so I decided to go in to work on Monday because there was a big meeting scheduled for 3:00 pm (who schedules a meeting at 3:00 pm???) which sort of represented the culmination of a long-term project I've been involved actively in. I thought I should be there to answer questions, and I also sort of wanted to see the final results of this 18 month effort (by me but also by many many other people). So anyway, I dragged myself in to the office ... and I felt really terrible. The Big C turned into the Big D by mid day. I was tired, but also weak (I have discovered the crucial difference between been "tired" or "fatigued," on the one hand, and being "weak" on the other hand). I made it through the day and to the afternoon meeting, but barely. Thankfully, K offered to give me a ride home - she was at the meeting also and leaving from there - and that was a big help. I basically collapsed when I got home, slept another 11 - 12 hours. No Tai Chi that night (which makes me sad - that's 4 weeks I've missed, 2 times after Chemo #4 when I was so sick with the chemo effects and the cold, 1 time because of being in Nashville, and again this past Monday. Hopefully next week I'll get back.)
Tuesday I felt better, not quite "right" but better. I managed to get through the day at work much better. Diarrhea was better. Food still tasting "off" but not quite as weird as Sunday night and Monday. Still tired, but less "weak." (One side effect I haven't written too much about, which apparently can be quite serious, is neuropathy in the extremities. One of the chemo drugs - I forget which one, can cause your fingers and toes and feet to tingle or become numb. For me it has gotten progressively worse in my left foot in particular after every chemo. I did have some numbness in 3 finger tips on my left hand after the first few chemos, but that has stopped. After this last chemo, my left foot now feels as if 1/4" of the bottom of the ball of my left foot and 3 of the toes are all "asleep". It's a really odd feeling walking around that way. In the past it has always gone away - or gone away 90-95% by the next chemo - and over the "break" when I had radiation, all the numbness went away. Hopefully this too will pass.)
And today I felt significantly better.
It's weird how there is a very specific and concrete cycle to the chemo side effects. I've been saying that "Monday is the worst day" and by god, it sure is/was. Well, there should only be one more bad Monday to go.
Thanks to all who checked on me. I survived. Blood counts on Friday this week.
It finally stopped raining, although it was March wind chilly today. But the sun was out. And the days are perceptibly lengthening. Daffodils are lifting up yellow heads through the damp ground in neighbors' yards. I saw a cherry tree's blossoms opening on the way home from the bus stop today. Spring is springing. Hurray.
Peace.
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