welcome to the danger zone

Posts tagged “side effects

Free At Last!! (At Least From The Horrors of the Tubes, Anyway)

I actually got ready early this morning, because we had several things to do be we left for my appointment at Hershey – which included going to vote with Andy and having a discussion about voter suppression, since once again, illegally, the polling place had a sign that said new voters had to show ID. I don’t know whether it’s blatant disregard that that no law was ever passed, or just ignorance developed from watching too much Fox News. Whatever. Not to mention that the polling place door is always surrounded by people campaigning for local candidates, making it somewhat intimidating to enter without being assaulted. But enter we did, and refused all the little cards the lurkers tried to force upon us to help up select our candidates. Really, if you don’t know who you are voting for and why when you get to the polls, you shouldn’t be voting at all, because you are clearly uninformed. I hate the way small town voting always seems shady, but our votes were cast and we received our stickers, which is my favorite part of voting.

After voting, we then had to hit the pharmacy because I was not going anywhere near that hospital today without being armed with a full prescription of pain meds. I wish I had had something for anxiety, because while the pain of the last tube procedure was just a memory for my brain, my body was fully remembering the trauma of the last visit, and on high stress alert. Not to mention that I couldn’t eat or drink anything for several hours before this stabbing, and I was nauseated by the Tamoxifen and shaky from not eating or drinking. My brain kept trying to deny that this time would be as painful as last, but my body was having none of that. Being sedated last time when I was leaving the Vascular Radiology department, I could only remember it was down the hall from Interventional Radiology, and wandered around lost in the bowels of the hospital trying to find it. I did find my friend Joanne, who works at PSHMC, and we then wandered together until I found it. I checked in and went to the waiting cell. As is typical at PSHMC, Fox News was on. I was doing okay until they started interviewing Donald Trump, and he began spewing outright lies, and no one even challenged him. At that point, I went and stood in the hall, because Tamoxifen raises my blood pressure and that asshole was making it worse. Not to mention all the crazy supporters in the waiting area who find him appealing as a candidate. And lest I forget, the man who spent his time reading his magazines aloud, then also audibly commenting on the articles he just read. I could feel my blood pressure soaring.

Finally I was beckoned to the dungeon, er, staging area. IV insertion did not go smoothly, and my very sweet nurse called for a vein whisperer after her first two attempts did not go as planned. My left hand is now going to be a large bruise. The second nurse got the IV started in my right hand after a few harrowing minutes when it looked like that vein was going to blow too. Settled onto my bed, I actually had a pillow this time instead of a fold-up blanket like last time. I tried to lie down, but I wanted to puke, so I asked the nurse to help me sit up so I wasn’t choking. She offered me Zofran, I wanted my herbal medication, and declined, and said I would deal with it when I got home. She said, oh do you drink ginger ale and I giggled and said, yes, but I also smoke marijuana. She nodded her approval. The Dr. then came out and told me that they had discussed my tube at their morning meeting and agreed that if they ran dye through my tube and it made it to my bladder, they would pull that sucker out. I agreed completely – then found out that since that was the plan, there’s be no sedation, no pain meds and no need for the IV so carefully stuck into my hand. However they left it in, and wheeled me into the procedure room, where in 15 minutes, my 13 weeks of torment were over. It was almost painless, but not really. I couldn’t wait to get a drink and some oxy to ward off any impending pain. I was wheeled back to my waiting space and released. Now to find Andy and my mango smoothie.

Andy and I hit the road after finding each other, and headed home. I drank my smoothie and ate my pills and was still cranky because I needed to eat. I wanted wings, but the wing place didn’t have any interesting flavors, so I settled for a jr. bacon cheeseburger, and some nuggets from Wendy’s. After my angry, hungry beast was fed, things were much better. We got home without any serious pain like last time. My little friend Erin was there to great me when I got home, and after a couple minutes of chatting with her, I headed to the tower, more pills, my medicine pipe, some advil and water. Having adequately medicated, I tried to sleep. Then the pain came. I guess I didn’t take my meds at the right time to prevent the last dose from wearing off completely, and just like last time, I couldn’t move my right side for without screeching pain with every movement. It’s since toned down a little, but that’s the main reason I am blogging tonight, because I need to get another dose in before I go to bed, so that I don’t wake up crying. My kidney spasms every now and then like it’s pushing small pieces of glass through it, and that my friends, is horrific. It lasts less than a minute, but it jolts me awake. Hopefully by tomorrow morning it will be tolerable.

The pain however was what got me thinking about blogging tonight was, because I don’t know if this happens for other people, but it does for me, when I am in pain I tend to hum, and then I hear songs in my head that are relevant to my situation. For instance, the song of the evening that is replaying in my head is Off With Their Heads’ Trying to Breathe. It’s my way of self-soothing I suppose. But I seem to have certain soundtracks to my life – like last month, I often heard one of U2’s earlier songs, October, over and over in my head. November is the month of the Jesus and Mary Chain because Joey’s birthday and the day he died are both this month, and the JMC is what reminds me of our friendship. And when the depression hits, I often turn to the Smiths and Elliott Smith to highlight my misery. When I was first diagnosed with cancer and I had to make the 4:30am drive back and forth to Hershey, I listened to OWTH’s In Desolation, to and from, every day…it got me through those six weeks and far beyond. OWTH is still one of my go-to bands for catharsis, and that’s the reason I try to see them as often as I can because there’s a sense of belonging among that crowd that I am not alone in my pain, fear, and frustration. It’s healing and cleansing. In fact, if you were to ask me about specific times in my life, there would be an album or a band that I would identify it with. R.E.M got me through being dumped during my pregnancy. I made mix CDs (and now playlists) of songs for seasons – there were summer songs, and loneliness songs, and dark brooding goth mixes with Black Tape for A Blue Girl. Some people enjoy music – my music gets me through the hard times, helping me put to words what I am feeling inside, and scream it out loud on winding back roads, helping me heal. There’s even driving music, which I have to be careful with because it seems to enhance my leadfoot. Then there were the new bands I discovered and would listen to when I first got to California and had to take the 2.5 bus ride to and from work every day – Husker Du, the Replacements and the Hoodoo Gurus to name a few. And Echo and The Bunnymen’s Songs to Learn and Sing. Andy’s first show was the very first Lollapalooza when I was 8 months pregnant. Most of my friends are clueless about the bands I listen to and love, but without my music, I’d be lost. It’s not just music, it’s my way to cope. Especially while I have been dealing with this C-monster that has me in its clutches. When I got the last prognosis, I spent hours driving and crying and singing my throat raw before I could pull it together to come home. I listen to classical when I need to focus; I listen to weird rhythmic pieces by Gabrielle Roth when I need to stretch, and I had playlists for the gym when I still had the strength to go. There was music for strength training and music for the elipti-hell machine. And there are songs that I will listen to on repeat until every ounce of pain has been expunged. And while I find peace in the bands I discover and love, there’s also music that makes my ears bleed – and gets under my skin like a festering splinter that I can’t wait to be rid of. Like when we went on the dinner cruise in DC, and the music they played on the observation deck made me want to leap into the Potomac or shoot out the speakers, or both – music can indeed make me miserable. Or it can make me laugh, like the song Bunnies by Pansy Division. (Go ahead and download that one) And for those who received them as holiday gifts – there are my impressive holiday songs collection, which have had some gems on them. It’s not just music, it’s part of who I am.

Music was the reason I was willing to put off chemo for two months so I could go to shows and festivals and see the bands I love. And while I made it the shows that mattered most to me, we all know how difficult the kidneys and bladder made following through on a lot of that was. In fact, going to shows made me fight a little harder to stay healthy so I could go. And it gives me a connection with Andy, that we enjoy a lot of the same music gives us something we can do together. In fact, my Christmas present is going to Chicago for the War On Christmas shows in December. Part of my “things I still need to do list” includes seeing bands I’ve always wanted to see live, which is a pretty short list these days, but there are still a few I haven’t seen.

Well now that I spilled all of that out there, it’s time for another round of pills. I’m still having pain, but it’s getting better – I will probably need my dressing changed in the morning – the doctor said that my kidney will seal itself, but there may be some discharge for a few days. I am allowed to swim and take baths again – they said 2 days, but I’ll wait a little longer, like when the hole is actually closed, and I don’t need a bandage on my back. It’s really the tape tugging at my skin that causes the most pain – there are scars around my back where the tape tore away my skin just like it did on my thigh. And it itches. But it’s almost completely over and I am so thrilled that I can’t even stand it. I rolled around on the bed just for fun, because nothing was tugging and pulling at my skin and kidney for the first time in over two months. I could literally feel the stress slide off after I got in the car to come home. I can deal with cancer, and I know at some point these things might have to be a part of my life n the months to come, but they don’t need to be here now. I just want to be able to do things and go places now while I can, without these encumbrances. Not that I minded taking the punk rock stroller to the shows, but I’d much rather be free of the attachments. No, that’s a lie, I did mind taking it, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

So now that my pain pills are slowly making their way into my bloodstream, I am ready to head to bed so that I can get up and get things done tomorrow, at least some laundry and maybe making dinner. We’ve been eating a lot of fast food, food other people have so kindly made for us, and frozen food. I haven’t had the energy to cook, but I’m hungry for jerk chicken and mashed potatoes and corn, and I know Andy would be grateful for his mother’s cooking again. The ladies arrive from CA here in Shenandoah on Friday, and Saturday morning we are going to Shady Maple for breakfast (and for the gift shop so I can get a new toy). I am so excited to see them all and spend time with them. And I am very thrilled to see all my other friend at the benefit on Saturday, and to score some of the good food that will be there, especially the stuff Lisa’s making, because that woman can cook. Best breaded chicken ever. My only hope is that my dad doesn’t over do the wine and drag up every less that optimal decision I ever made in my life. Presently, he’s blaming my circumstances on moving to FL with my much older alcoholic and drug addicted boyfriend when I was 17. That’s a long time and a lot of therapy ago. But that’s my dad. It’s still going to be a good time.

Before I forget, I did get my panda suit. It was very hot. I sat on the porch for over an hour waving at cars, but only 4 people total ever waved back. I scared Andy, Eric and two other people walking by. People showed the panda no love. If I saw a giant panda just sitting and waving on a porch, I would have stopped the car for pictures. Then I let Andy borrow the costume for a show he was going to. The panda body no longer exists any more because he was far too tall for it, and it showed. However, panda’s head is just fine, so I’ll just toss on my new security blanket, my OWTH hoodie, and sit on the porch as punk rock panda, and see if that makes a difference. Now it’s time for bed, and more water because we have to keep the kidney in good shape. Sweetest of dreams, I’ll probably be back after everyone returns to the West coast with pictures and stories to tell. Enjoy these last few warm days. And remember to give lots of hugs and tell people you love them every chance you get. You can’t do either enough. And sorry for the rambling, it’s the medication, I swear.

Advertisements

Falling Down a Rabbit Hole

It’s Monday. I’ve lost a full week. I’m sitting up and made my own bagel for breakfast after enjoying several trips to the bathroom to pee, which since Dana is gone, is a celebration each and every time. I’m working on scheduling doctor appointments and getting up the energy to leap (that’s a fucking exaggeration – I am not leaping anywhere anytime soon,) I am happy just to move forward without falling or gagging or wretching. I puked more in the last week that I did throughout both times I did chemo. Which is a special time when you have a catheter and a nephrostemy, because you may not know, all that shits connected in bizarre ways, and that nephrostemy tube in my back moves in and out as my kidney moves, so when your stomach is twisted up and hurling all that ice water back you just drank back into the sink, it’s also trying to simultaneously push out the catheter and the nephrostemy tube, which being sewn into your kidney and back is being torn out unless you put your hand on it to hold it still. This feat, called contortionism, requires that you twist your right arm completely around in your socket to put your palm on the bandage. This leaves your left arm available for all of the following: keeping you from slamming your face into the sink or holding your stomach, or covering your mouth if you are on your way to puke again all while making sure you don’t step on Dana or get it caught on something. Fucking phenomenal. Then you can try to brush your teeth and hope it doesn’t spawn a new round of hurling. This is followed by return to bed, where you freeze, sweat, freeze and then not be able to figure out of if you’re freezing or on fire. Only ginger beer brings a smidgen of relief. I didn’t even want to sit up long enough to medicate with my fine herbal medication.

So here it is Monday. I’ll eventually write more. For now, I’m sorry if I missed your birthday, or ignored your text, or message or didn’t respond with appropriate enthusiasm to something you said or did, I’m sorry. I went to see my brother and his wife and spend the whole time puking in their bathroom and spreading disease. Today is the first time I even opened the laptop in five days. I’ve spent more of the last week crying and wishing I could just die than I have the last 10 years. And now I’m about to make an appointment with palliative care, the call I never even thought I’d be making.

That said, OWTH was fucking amazing, as they always are, as was spending time with the Erica, and Denise and every one else. Ryan, I hope I can get a bunny shirt on Friday at the D4 show. I’m going to stop now, because I realized I am purposefully avoiding making this phone call. And at some point, I’m gonna need to shower and get in the car and get some sun on my face. Be well. Love each other, and get all the hugs you can. Even if it spreads plague.


Pufferfish’s Evil Return

Well, well, well.

I noticed from the upswing in hits on the blog that people have been anxiously awaiting this blog entry. It’s certainly not one I wanted to write, and it took a few days for me to get my head around the news from the Dr. and actually sit down and write. Mostly I have just been lying in bed, super-high on narcotics and whatever else is lying around, trying to pretend that none of this is happening. Do you think just once, my body and mind could cooperate? Just once, for a few blissful hours of mind and body numbing peace. No fucking way.

First, I couldn’t get numb enough. And believe me I tried. But then things kicked in and I was all sorta fuzzy warm and mellow and just kinda caught in that sweet spot between sleep and awake where you can just lie there and not care. Until the pain started. Then I had to revisit my dear narcotic friends, and a few Advil just for good measure. Next thing you knew, I was asleep. Well, for two hours anyway, because my increasingly smaller bladder had me up stumbling to the bathroom every two hours, as in the new normal in this house. And of course, I need to drink a lot of water, so that fun never stops. But here we are, Sunday morning, almost noon, and I am enjoying the bitter turmeric tea and encouraging it to kill cancer cells as I type.

I suppose I should reveal the news from the Dr. I have already had to text or tell a bunch of people, and first let me say, the words I hate to hear are “I’m sorry” – I know you are, you don’t have to say it. I also hate the sad look. So, if you can spare me any of that, it would be awesome. I am not going anywhere yet, unless the Tamoxifen gives me a heart attack or embolism. I’ll reveal the full prognosis after I set the stage, because even though the moments are etched forever in my brain, they aren’t stuck in yours yet.

So Heidi and I head off to Hershey that morning, bright and chipper. Okay, maybe the chipper part is an exaggeration, since I already viewed the CT scan report online, Friday night, after it was posted. I already knew one of the tumors had shrunken significantly, and that my bladder lining had thickened. I also knew that that fucking pufferfish was living, larger than ever, in the dark vastness of my uterine cavity. Inside of it was no longer a clear or murky liquid, but evil nodules of the deadliest kind (which they might not be, but in my mind, I’d already given the diagnosis). These were new and growing nodules. Evil bits that plague the pufferfish. However, despite the new larger size of the pufferfish, it was not causing me any real pain, that is to say, there was some achiness that I had attributed to just being lazy, but that I now knew to be pressure from the beast. It was not the relentless traumatic pain that I had before that warranted morphine just in order to function. In fact, I could get away most days without any medication at all.

Despite the two young deer that decided that crossing Interstate 81 was a good choice at 9:15 am, we arrived early at the appointment – and of course the waiting room was crowded, but not as crowded as it had been in the past. Of course, I was anxious, but I had kept deluding myself with the thoughts that Dr. K would just tell me it was nothing, put me on hormones, and send me on my way for three months. I was busy checking my facebook between talking to Heidi, or playing Red Herring and thinking “why didn’t I make that neato sign that says “I’m in remission”?” so I could take a selfie later. Then I was called. Well first they called for Diana, and ended up with the wrong person, then they realized their error and came back for me. And it was actually early for my appointment. Omen 1.

Well I went back alone, and was weighed and measured. When I looked at the scale, it looked like I gained three pounds, which was annoying, but turns out, I lost five. It’s hard to read upside down. I went in to the exam room with my nurse, and we did the blood pressure thing and reviewed my meds, and I gave a two for my pain level, and then this unfamiliar nurse left me and told me Dr. K would be in soon. And I waited. And waited. And waited. I heard and saw medical students wandering about, so I knew it was a minion day. This might take a bit.

And I waited. After 45 minutes, there was knock on the door. In came a young woman, who let me know she was a chief resident. She had a copy of my CT report, and asked me the usual minion questions. I told her I had already reviewed my report on line, and compared it to previous reports and she asked me what I thought. I told her I was pleased that one tumor had shrunk, but I was concerned about the other information. She smiled and said the tumor shrinking is good news, right? I agreed, and then she excused herself and told me they would be right back in a few minutes.

And I waited. By this time, I have concluded that this visit is going to have bad news. I never wait this long to see the Dr. It’s almost an hour. Dr. K has a southern drawl. I hear him going in and out of exam rooms, but never mine. My treatment coordinator, Anne, has not arrived to hug me. Something’s up. It’s not the usual laugh riot that my trip to the Dr. usually is. Even though I consciously want to explain away the delay, I know that the last time I had to wait this long, it was not good news at all. Nope. My gut knows this is bad. Omen 2.

Still waiting. The chief minion pokes her head in and says it will be just a few more minutes, smiles and exits. I hear Dr. K in the room next to me talking to the posse. I can’t hear what he is saying, but I am texting Heidi to tell her this is not good and I am still waiting. Then I hear him in the hall, telling someone to go find Anne and tell her he needs her. Then he says, tell her I’m in here, I am going in. And in comes Dr. K, at 11:45ish, with his somber face on. I notice this and say “hey, you have your somber face on,” and he sits down. It is never good when he sits down right away. Omen 3.

He whips out that CT report and begins. He says, well you already saw this, but I’m going over it. I say of course, I saw it, but my medical degree from google and web md are not helping me understand it. He says well the one tumor outside is significantly smaller. I nod. Then he says, but your cyst is back, and bigger, and again I nod. He says that this is not good. The chemo did nothing to the murky death cells in the cyst. They even grew. This is not good at all. We do not want murky death cell growth. He tells me that recurrent endometrial cancer is very bad, and I remind him I have used google and know this. He says that the only thing we can do now is try to stop the cyst from growing and/or keeping cancer from spreading. I nod, I’m on board for this. He sighs.

Anne arrived and she has a serious face on too. The chief minion in the chair aside me is silent. Dr. K says we can try another series of chemo, he can put me on a chemo pill, or we can do nothing. Ruling out “do nothing” as an option, I ask him what he thinks I should do, since he is the professional. and has a degree in medicine from a school and not web md, and he says that I have had a rough round of chemo and I should take the pill for three months, and enjoy my summer. Then he throws out “I am not going to bullshit you, if this things grows or spreads, this cancer is going to kill you.” Bottom line. He can’t give me a time frame or an idea of progression, but I know Dr. K long enough now that he wouldn’t be telling me this if it wasn’t a likely outcome. He then reminds me that I am not a candidate for surgery because of where and how this thing is situated and that even if I was, that again, he would have to remove my bladder, rectum, and as a new added bonus, my vagina. No, that is not anything we’d be considering anyway. Quality of life over quantity. I have done an amazing job keeping it together through all this, even making a few jokes. I ask for more oxycodone, while everyone scurries for my prescriptions and to write orders for CT scans in three months. Dr. K reminds me that I WILL be able to go see OWTH in September if they play in Philly. The grandchildren thing is still not something he can guarantee me, and frankly, it’s probably not likely.

Then he hugs me. I want to break down sobbing but I assure him I’ll be ok. Anne hugs me. I am in a state of shock, I think, and then I cry a little. I don’t want to go to check-out sobbing, because I will scare the other patients. I am choking it back. I am saying all the things that other people will say to me over the next few days in my head, there’s always miracles, get a second opinion, be positive – you know, all the shit that people say when they are trying to make you feel better. I let Heidi know I’m out and then I go to check out and stuff my bag with tissues, because the breakdown is coming.

I successfully hold it together until I get to Heidi’s car. Then I tell her my prognosis, and cry a little. Then we go to lunch. At Houlihan’s. I have two hard cherry lemonades. I am relaxed. I can deal with this, but I am devastated that I will have to tell Andy. I don’t want to ruin his future plans and make him feel like he has to put his life on hold while I wait for cancer to finish me off. I don’t want him to have to be without his mom. I don’t want to have to tell him.

For the record, I have told brother’s Michael and Alan that I am on Tamoxifen for three months, and that we will see what happens when we have CT scans in August. I didn’t tell them the endometrial cancer will likely kill me part. I am sure someone I have told or that reads this blog will spill the beans, but I couldn’t. I am also not telling my dad or my other brothers. I am sure again, that someone will tell them even though I DO NOT want them to know. I couldn’t not blog about it, because frankly I am tired of telling people and facing the sad face and hearing words that do nothing to make either of us feel better.

So for right now, I am in limbo. Knowing the history of this pufferfish and its habits, it’s more likely to keep growing than not. I am taking Tamoxifen twice a day, and hoping it helps. I am drinking turmeric tea and trying to eat better. I am chanting for healing. I am visualizing the pufferfish drying up and vanishing, but I also know better than to dismiss the likely reality. As I’ve pointed out to many of my friends, there are advantages. I’ll be able to get a prescription for medical marijuana when the law passes here in PA, and I will probably never have to pay back my student loans. One of the possible side effects of the Tamoxifen is that I may lose weight (I could also gain it, or die of an embolism, heart attack or stroke). So who knows?

Strangely enough, I am also okay with this. Knowing beats waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I can finally go get that new tattoo and get my ears pierced so I can get big gold hoops that say “sexy” and “baby” to rock with my bald ostrich head. And I only need to get through 2.5 months before my next CT scan before I know if the tamoxifen had any effect. Oh, and I get to return to work full-time on June 8th. Woo hoo. I probably could have had my Dr. write me off for the whole summer if I asked, but hell, I am tired of not getting a paycheck and having to rely on Andy for money. So we’ll see how this all works out.

That my friends, it the story. Now I’m off to make some lunch, or take a nap, or something. Enjoy your Sunday afternoon. Peace out.

PS. I have this goal of reading 1000 books before I die. I am on number 2. However, it’s heavy on feminist theory, so it could be a while. But you should be happy because it’s about feminism and you know how I love that. Just wait.

BTW, if you like this or any of my entries, hit the ol’ like button on this page. Maybe more people will read it then. And it gives me a happy star when someone likes my entry. It’s the little things, folks.

hilarious_grim_reaper_gag_by_ATLbladerunner


Of Mice and Mummies

There’ something dead in my throat. I am guessing it probably crawled in while I was snoring and became trapped and slowly met its demise. Whatever it is, it’s really nasty and it adds to the nasty metal taste in my mouth that I cannot get rid of. Apparently, I forgot that you don’t get used to chemo as you move further into treatment, you just get sicker. And I am – I am still not up to getting out of bed and driving to Hershey to do my blood work, but that will change tomorrow, because I can’t put it off anymore.

This whole chemo thing is getting boring. TV is boring, being sick is boring, drinking tea is boring and this weather? It sucks. If I ever get cancer again, it better be in the fucking spring, because somehow I think if I could go sit in the sun for a few minutes a day, I’d feel better but alas, I am trapped here in the tower of gloom and clutter with nothing to do but toss side to side and hope to slip into drug enhanced sleep.

The chemo is killing my sense of humor too. I suppose part of that is because I am trapped here in solitary. Of course, I crack myself up, but I am a captive audience. A captive audience with no energy to escape. I did manage a shower today – and I made some toast, so I guess that’s progress. I just feel like my brain is turning into jello – I haven’t had any serious academic conversations in days, nay, months. I feel like a jumbo hamster on a squeaky wheel, just going around and around, with occasional escapes into the real world, until I am captured by the chemo beast and shoved back in the cage. Even pinterest doesn’t hold my attention for things I will never make or buy the way it used to. Red pandas only amuse me for a short while, and alpacas, well they just make me long for a house on the beach. I have this list of things I could probably make while sitting here if only my eyes would agree to stay open for extended periods of time. I mean things have gotten so bad, that I don’t even turn off Hoda and Kathie Lee at 10 am anymore, I just suffer their stupidity. I even find myself watching the 700 Club more than once a week and that doesn’t bring any laughs either. Okay, well it did today, when the only man who I believe is Pat Robertson told some viewer that it was okay that their daughter did yoga, but only if she didn’t chant afterward, because that’s the worship of Hindu gods. The funniest part was the seriousness in which Pat Robertson tried to mimic the chant. I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, I am gonna keep this short, because being in the tower and watching reruns of Kitchen Nightmares and the Middle don’t really make me the wicked conversationalist. I did however watch some show on the History channel last night that has had me thinking all day. Apparently, mummies have enough DNA in the remains that once the technology is available, we can clone, or reanimate them. Now – stay with me on this – the scientists state we aren’t that far off from being able to do this. I mean we have already injected human brain matter into the brains of mice successfully. Reanimation could quite possibly involve retaining all your memories and experiences of your previous life, and then you would start adding new ones. Would that be a good thing? I wonder. I mean some things you want to forget. And if you remember the past, does it also mean that all your ailments and illnesses are also with you? What if you died a particularly painful death? Would you remember that? And would you be reconstituted in the same state you were when you mummified? Would you want that? Would you want to relive all the experiences you had all over again or would you want a fresh start? I tend to believe we are energy just moving from one form to another, so I don’t know that I would like a restart for this life, if I was already dead. Wouldn’t you always wonder if you were still the same as you were, or if something was missing, or damaged? No one who knew you would still be around, so how would you know? And isn’t the choice of whether you come back or not, taken from your hands by whoever manages to bring you back to life? It seems like an easy question at first, but it’s incredibly complicated when you really think about it. I know there are people who have passed in my life that I would never want to have back in my life again, and then there are people I would love to have back, but I’ve moved on, and would they fit into the life I have now? And what about these mice with human brain bits? What do they do with them and whose brain bits are they inserting in there? And what if they escape and start reproducing? Are these random combinations ever a good thing? Maybe we should worry less about GMO corn and more about these human-mouse hybrids. Think about that.

SmartMouse

Well that’s all for now my friends. I’ve exercised my brain more than expected today, and I have some ice cold killers in Alaska to watch now. Have a wonderful afternoon, and wish me luck on getting to Hershey for blood work tomorrow, because I need another sticker for my collection. Plus I am sure the vampires miss me. Until next we meet.


Taste the Rainbow (A ‘Twas the Night Before Chemo Tale)

So here we are – 2:20AM, on the day I am supposed to do cycle three of chemo. I should be sleeping, and indeed I was, once again with the lappie in my lap. It was long day today – there was a weather delay and I did not want to go to work at all, but I went in, and got through the day. Yay me! I took my first 5 of my pre-chemo decadron, after some initial panic that I was all out. As I pulled out my plethora of pill bottles, and tried to read the labels without putting glasses on, I was once again pondering the fact that no two pills that I take are the same color. Decadron is green, morphine is robin’s egg blue, synthroid are purple and pink, and effexor is yellow. I have more, but I imagine you get the idea that I have like the skittles collection of medications. I don’t even think my dad takes as many pills as I do.

The rainbow of flavors, or rather colors, of my meds is not what brought me here tonight – no, my friend, it’s something much more serious. I can’t find my backpack. Or my iPod (yes, again). I believe both are in the house, I just can’t remember where. This is another of the great gifts bestowed upon my by chemo. Fluffy chemo brain. Sometimes I think my brains fell out with my hair. And as you know, the only thing of value that I own, or at least am still paying for, is my brain. I’m not real pleased when it won’t function like it should. I was hoping to use my backpack tomorrow when I pack for chemo. Yes, I said pack. I need to take my blankie, and monka monkey, and zombie sock monkey and snacks and my purse and my oxycodones (they do not give me pain meds during chemo, but I am free to medicate myself) and my sandals because stupid ass snow is preventing me from getting through this winter without having to put shoes one. Next time my body decides to betray me, I hope it chooses early spring, because having to do all of this during winter really sucks. But back to my issue – if anyone can help me find my missing stuff, let me know. I swear they are right here in the bedroom, but I can’t even keep an eye on the remote control or my phone for more than an hour, so like remembering where I put the backpack two or three months ago isn’t likely to happen.

Anyway, I realize some of you who read this are not on facebook or perhaps done check it daily, or hourly, or every five minutes, like some of us. I had a Dr. visit yesterday, to which I wore the beautiful fox hat (yes, I made it) pictured below:

foxhate2 foxyhate

I thought we were just gonna talk about my blood work, which I would like to announce, looks great. The tumor markers that show in my blood, known as CA125 are back in the normal range with means it appears the chemo is working. I am counting on this round of chemo being the last before remission. So after meeting with Anne and telling her all the things I am doing different this time and how it’s making the sickness easier to bear, she goes to get Dr. K – but she comes back and tells me he wants to do an exam, thus ruining my whole day, because a girl has to prepare for internal exams. I had no time to build the dread that is normally part of being probed. And as if lying on the table, while wearing my fox hat, wasn’t torture in itself, while the jabbing is going on, Dr. K’s pager goes off. Now his pager sounds exactly like the on-call pager at work. The screeching of the angry beast throws me right into a flashback, and I am fearful that they will have to treat me for PTSD. Dr. K tells me he can still feel the damn pufferfish, because it’s still a pufferfish, but is pleased that I am not shrieking in pain while he is doing the exam, which I interpret as meaning this is a good sign. I get another prescription for my pain meds, and more blood work papers and head on down to the vampires in the lab so they can drain more blood (and get my sticker) and then I am set free to roam around for the rest of the day. As per usual I decide what I am hungry for (Five Guys) and drive to go fetch it. I purchase my yummy burger and start driving home, looking forward to shoving it in my hungry belly. Until I don’t want a burger anymore. Now I want a blizzard from DQ. Except they’re close. At 6 pm. What kind of place does this…so now I need to get back on the interstate and drive ten more miles to McDonald’s for a McFlurry. Dinner was served, with a side of french fries, and the burger went in the fridge as the mad craving for red meat had waned.

And now here I sit. I want to sleep, and indeed, I do nod off from time to time, but the decadron makes me hot, and restless. And if I wasn’t having difficulty sleeping already, there are showing a Vikings marathon on the History Channel, in preparation for the new season which premieres on Thursday. I find myself obsessed with it, particularly the soundtrack. It’s like SOA but with horses and battle axes instead of bikes and guns. It even has a Jax Teller look-a-like in Earl Ragnar. I suppose I am also anxious about chemo, and being sick again, but not as much as usual. In less that 24 hours, I will be halfway through this round of chemo. Time to celebrate.

That’s all I’ve got for today. I don’t know when I’ll feel like sitting up again before next week, so if I don’t write tomorrow night, I’ll be back in a week or so. Thanks for sticking around my friends. I swear I’ll try to have my full sarcastic temperament back soon. You have no idea how much energy you exert trying to be funny. I might even try live blogging tomorrow. Maybe even video. But for now, I must rest. As should you. Good night, my friends. Be well.

UPDATE: At 4 am, after a second load of laundry because I can’t sleep, the back pack was located, in only a most obvious place. Next challenge – finding the ipod. Which is probably in a very obvious place as well.


This, That and Other Random Stuff All Tossed Together

For the first time ever, I completely scrapped the post I was writing and decided to start over.

I’ve started and stopped writing entries several times these past two weeks, (there’s extra bonus writing at the end – a longer post I started and didn’t want to keep writing so I’ll just slap it on the end of this one as a bonus). I don’t know what’s keeping me from writing – anxiety, exhaustion, procrastination – I mean I know it’s not because I don’t have anything to write about. Sometimes I think that I avoid it because I don’t want to have to keep whining about this cancer nonsense. I just can’t help that the stupid monster inside of me just kind of pervades my thoughts every day.

I do think of other things – like getting a pet goat, what book I should be reading, how I wish I had a maid, how I am hungry for brownies, that the season premiere of Vikings is next week, how I would rule the world when I am Empress of the Universe, calculations for the diameter of watermelons at the store – you know, important things. It’s not that I don’t want to write – I do – but half of the time, I find myself slipping into medication-assisted sleep, and the other half, I nod off, unmedicated. Some days I am all fired up about some social issue, I get ready to write and then I get distracted and next thing you know, drool is slobbered all over my cheek and my own snoring wakes me up.

Which is exactly what happened after I wrote that last sentence – I fell asleep, laptop in lap, and woke up this morning at 7ish. I had my wonderful morning cancer killing tea, and just finished some yummy oat meal. I realize I have little to complain about this morning – I feel okay, I can make tea in my bedroom with my loverly keurig, and oatmeal too. I am warm, and comfortable, and I can just spend the day doing nothing, which is what Saturday is often about here lately. I’m still undeniably anxious and restless about next week’s events but I’m grateful that I have such amazing health care that I don’t have to worry about the financial side of this. This whole cancer thing does put things in perspective, but I’m still not in that “live every minute as though it was your last” mindset. I am still too scared about what is to come to get there.

But let’s move away from this cancer nonsense and talk about what is going on in the world. I am sure we all know it’s cold. Well those of us in the snowy areas of the northeast do. My county has finally established a foot hold for a shelter for the homeless, but it’s causing quite an uproar because the shelter is part of a store front in the business district of the biggest town in our county, or I guess what has been formerly known as the county seat. The frightened townspeople are afraid that the existence of shelter will lead to more homeless people. Really? Like a funeral home would lead to more dead people? I often wonder when stupidity and hatred became the norm. Why is there so much opposition – I mean there’s already a drug and alcohol rehab on the main thoroughfare, and we still have the same amount of salt heads as ever. The homeless are still gonna be here, people…they will just squat in vacant buildings or spend the day in the library or the night in a laundromat or Wal-Mart , doing what they need to do to keep warm and alive. How stupid people are that thinking helping people who are in danger of hypothermia or frost bite will lead to more people wanting to live on the street. I just have such a hard time reconciling the emphasis in this area on being good Catholic and Christians and then in the next breath not turning your cheek, but rather turning your back on the people who need your christian charity the most. I feel like hell when I am driving my fat ass to work and I see someone walking in this cold, and people here are too worried about their “things” than they are about another person. These are the same people who will wax poetic on the value of a fetus, until that fetus is born and homeless and grows up in poverty. Then they will call my office and ask someone to go out and “take those kids away” forgetting that this was one of those fetuses that they insisted be born into to poverty. End of soapbox tirade. I have others, I’ve just decided if I am going to post anything, it’s gonna have to happen quick.

Round 4 of attempting to finish this – this is just an example of how tired this stupid chemo makes me. This is my fourth attempt to finish this post. I fell asleep three different times. Even after I drank coffee This is why nothing gets done around here. I get all excited with plans, I get all the stuff out for whatever project I have planned, and then before I know it, I’m under a blanket, dreaming about being attacked by a vicious and violent kitten I am supposed to be pet-sitting. Needless to say, that did not improve my opinion of cats. But on a night like tonight, being warm in bed with many blankets is not such a bad thing. Of course, since Andy is out on the road somewhere with friends tonight after a hockey game, I am now awake because I am worried about his safety on this hellishly frigid night. I couldn’t fall asleep easily anyway, with this howling wind. My multiple layers of blankets on the windows isn’t even keeping the icy breeze off my adorable bald head. I don’t want to text him because I don’t want him checking his phone wherever he is driving considering there is little visibility with the blowing snow. I just hope he had the sense to stay put wherever he is. Motherhood. It’s like an itch you can’t get rid of.

Well, since I have failed at humor and don’t have much else to write about until after my Dr. visit on Monday, I’m just gonna put this lame excuse for a blog post out of its misery. But not until after I share this facebook post from a young man who was one of my students when I was teaching at Lebanon Valley College…it’s nice to read these things when I often wonder if I have made a difference in this world…and according to this, I apparently have:

Everyone please keep Diane Pietkiewicz in your thoughts, prayers, etc. I’m not one for religion, but I’m making an exception and praying to the big guy. Diane is the most memorable part of my Academic collegiate experience. Best professor ever. She consistently made me look at the big picture, taught me never to settle, and that the history of our nation is far from that which we’re taught in highschool lol. She is fighting a bullshit disease, and deserves all the support in the world!

And since Joe talks about praying, I just want to say this…all of you lovelies should know by now that I tend to follow Buddhist philosophy, rather than religion. I am not one for praying although I do chant daily but I do appreciate prayers, in whatever faith and form they come in, because I believe in the power of focused attention. For me, putting positive vibes and thoughts out in the world can’t do anything but good, so I am grateful for whatever words or thoughts you put into action. I spend time every day visualizing this damn puffercyst inside me shriveling up and dying. So pray on, or chant, or just think good things. As a matter of fact, I am really grateful for everything people have done/are doing for me while I endure this latest go with chemo – everything from offers to run things up from the netherworld of the office so I don’t have to, to sending me surprise packaged, to simply asking me how I am. And I apologize for not being as shiny and happy everyday as I have been in the past – I try, but as I’ve whined about, I am so tired all the time. In fact, today as I was rolling over in bed, I realized I would have made a damn fine bear. But not a polar bear, because apparently they don’t get to hibernate. But a grizzly. I would be a fine grizzly. I could be a panda too, but they aren’t really bears, and they also don’t hibernate – but they are pretty lazy, which if me right now.

And with that, I shall try get comfortable and warm in bed, while I wait to find out if my kid is safe. I tacked on the post I tried writing the other right at the end of this one – I promise to try and rein in my adult ADHD next time and stay awake from start to finish when next I write. So stay warm and dry my darlings. Bonne nuit.

BONUS READING:

(I started this on the 29th of January, or so)

On the first day after chemo, chemo gave to me…so far, nothing that I can’t really complain all that much. I ate some chili (not always nausea friendly, but I am not known for always making the wises decisions), had some tea and ginger beer, and some nuts. No fever, took a couple oxycodone and a zofran (super effective anti nausea drug) and I am drinking water like a camel ready to hit the desert. Of course, that means I am spending a lot of time running to the bathroom, but if it means I don’t get sick, I’ll do laps. Andy cut off his dreads today and then I buzzed the rest of his head, because he wanted to show his solidarity in the current situation. He was pissed that I buzzed the last of the zombie grinch or some other weird Dr. Seuss character hair without him, but I explained I couldn’t go out in public to chemo looking like that…I love making and wearing funny hats, but hats get hot pretty quickly inside, and frankly, I love my bald head. It’s a weird time of year to be bald because it’s freezing outside, so when I am in the cold, I need to wear a hat, but at home it comes right off, and now that I don’t look like I wondered out of a nuclear bomb blast, I won’t be wearing hats indoors at all except to make my doctors, nurses and small children laugh.

The day was long yesterday, my doctor was running late and then I found out my co-pay went up, and I got to chemo late. It was quiet on the infusion unit yesterday, but the day was fun since my friend and co-worker Heidi took a vacation day to drive me to chemo and hang out with me. We played the Chupacabra: Survive the Night Game which could be very fun in you add alcohol and make it a drinking game. Otherwise, playing to best three out of five is enough. But between the game, and conversation and people watching, the day went quickly. My nurse had a bit of hard time getting my IV started…she didn’t want to go with the vein I thought would be a good choice at first, so she tried my hand – no go. She then decided to try around where I thought would work, and hit one, but today it has a huge bruise, which doesn’t typically happen for me, so on my point scale of 1-10 where ten is I feel nothing and 1 is “oh my god are you doing this for the first time????”, she only gets a 4.8 downgraded from the 5.2 or 5.3 she got yesterday. I knew I’d have a bruise on my hand, but I didn’t think I would have on my inner arm. (as of February 14th, I still have remnants of this bruise) It doesn’t hurt, it just looks ugly. But the doctor did say that my blood work looked good and I looked good and let’s just see what happens by the 3 cycle to see if this thing shrinks, and that it’s important for me to just stop what I am doing when I get tired, and walk away from it. I know I don’t now, because when I am at work I don’t think like “I’m sick” and just do the work, and exhaust myself so I suppose I am just going to have to remind myself my body is in a fight, and I need to put it first. Alas, I also need to work to have health insurance and to pay the premium. I am very excited about my first paycheck since December tomorrow. I am going to do something crazy with all that cash…like pay rent.

And speaking of crazy, a couple weeks ago, there was a contest on the facebook group, Saving Money, Living Smart, that I belong to…at Christmas, there was wish list to put on the items that you wish you could get for Christmas, and I put down a Keurig. Well a couple weeks ago, the group owner asked a few of us if we got our Keurigs, and then had a second chance contest to nominate someone who we felt deserved it. Well I felt I did…I mean, especially today, the day after chemo, and then next week, when Andy is sleeping after work, and I am too sick to get out of bed myself and I want a cup of hot tea and can’t go get one and have to wake him up. I don’t know if anyone else entered me too, but I told my story about how I found out about the cancer two days before Christmas and blah blah blah, and today, the FedEx guy shows up and what? Whoa. I now have Keurig from Saving Money, Living Smart and the Keurig Company. How awesome is that? As soon as Andy gets up from his nap, I’ll have him take a picture of me and my Keurig…what a great surprise and what perfect timing. (Even though I bitched all the way down the steps about who was knocking on my door because don’t they know I am resting.) This is fabulous…I can’t wait to take it out of the box and check it out once I get a picture. I just need to get one of those reusable cups for my ginger honey tea. I am excited. (and that’s where I fell asleep that time)


Randomosity

So hey there happy peoples, what are you all doing for fun tonight?

Movies? Bars? Sleeping?

Me? Oh just combing out hair nests, and itching from straggler hairs that end up all over my back and then in weird places – I’m barely going to have enough for the mohawk tomorrow – it’s going to look super weak, but oh well, the hair has to come off. Little known cancer fact – losing your hair doesn’t hurt, but your scalp is super sensitive and hurts for a while until it toughens up. I have to make a few hats to get through the hairless phase intially, because I didn’t lose my hair last time until April I believe, and by then, it was warm enough to go hairless most days. I still have all my hats from last time, both the ones I made and the ones given to me, but an encore of cancer calls for new hats. I’m gearing up for the next few freezing cold days ahead too.

T-4 days until my next 3d live chemo encounter in HD with HY. We are gonna play the chupacabra game! I have to see what other games I have to take too…good times ahead. For the record, chemo day itself isn’t the worst day, because you get pumped so full of fluids, drugs and other goodies, that you actually feel pretty decent that day…and sometimes even the next day, but by the second day after, it’s a nightmare hellscape. Needless to say, the days before are riddled with anxiety. But can I focus on my fears? No, of course not, because in the background the TV is droning so I don’t get lonely, and there’s a commercial for some sort of vagina freshening product that alleges a woman will gain swagger if her vagina is freshened daily with some spray or powder. Swagger? Really? How do I get a marketing job, because seriously, that’s about the most stupid commercial I have ever had to see. And what followed it? A commercial for adult diapers, encouraging me to wear a diaper in solidarity with those who suffer from incontinence. So wait, I am supposed to freshen my vagina to go buy diapers so people with urinary problems know I support them. My life doesn’t need to be this complicated, I have my own struggles!

I don’t really know what the point of my writing this evening is – I’ve been trying to keep myself busy so as not to dwell on the week ahead. I started making a poncho. I pinned stuff I’ll never do to pinterest. I planned to make other shit. I cooked and ate a pork chop. I cooked up some chicken and potatoes to make curry tomorrow and zoned out to Lifetime movies. So clearly, I must be suffering from anxiety. Part of it is the low grade fever I have had for two days – I want it to be gone so I can go to work Monday and Tuesday, and most importantly, not have it delay my treatment on Wednesday. I’ve been slugging back water to make sure my veins are super juicy for visiting the vampires on Monday, and when the nice nurse goes poking for a good vein on Wednesday. Another curious chemo fact – the vein used for the iv for is not the normal wrist or inner arm or back of your hand – it’s usually somewhere on the side of the lower arm, and if you get a really good nurse, she’ll get it the first time, because she (or he) will poke around with their finger until they are sure they have a good one. I have only had one miss in all my treatments so far – and she realized it right away. But according to the nurses, to insure juicy veins, you need to drink drink drink water the DAY before, not just the morning of. So if someone is going to stick a sharp needle of poison in me, I am certainly going to make it as easy as possible for that person to get it right the first time.

I think I am just kind of having the realness of what’s happening to me sink in. Up until now it’s been a bit surreal. But when my hair started coming out after only one treatment, it was like, hey ho, it really is cancer again. I made it through four days of work this week, and the last two were tough because by noon, I was wiped out. I keep thinking my body isn’t busy fighting a battle against cruel invaders, so I am just fine, but I get home and my legs are swollen and achy and all I want is sleep. Ok, eat and sleep. I’ve been stuffing feelings all week. Today, not as bad as the rest of the week, but man, when I found that Irish soda bread, it was game over. I can’t just eat a piece of it – nooooo, I have to keep picking at it until only crumbs remain. And it was delicious. There’s few things as delicious as Irish soda bread. And it’s a fine balm from what ever demon is clutching at your throat.

Tomorrow, Andy has said he will be joining me in the clean head club – I told him he doesn’t have to shave his beloved dreads – he’s worked so hard on them and they are actually starting to look okay. Not that I like them, but I know it’s a big sacrifice for him. Then I will try to vacuum up all the loose strands of hair that are EVERYWHERE. The best thing about losing all my hair is that I won’t have to wake up coughing up a hairball everyday. You think I jest? Not even. Practically everything I have eaten in the last week features at least one hair. Even tea. Tomorrow, I eat hair free, once again.

So that’s it, or all my psyche will allow me to address tonight. Time for me to try and sleep…the wind is howling out there, so it won’t be easy. Please keep sending me good vibes…the support is felt and appreciated. And to all of you who have sent me cards, thank you. I love cards. Even if you make it yourself. Cards are fun. They remind me of my pop-pop…but that’s a story for another day. I keep them all in a box and look at them, and not just cuz I’m a hoarder.

Pleasant slumbers my pals, may your dreams not be filled with hungry flying crocodiles and mirror that duplicate you into an evil clone. Don’t ask. XXOO

PS. I used the lovely sheep picture because there’s a serious lack of cartoons on line that are about chemo and funny.

a54371b940ce8b.image


Fall Out Girl

Hi there kittens!

It’s Tuesday. I’ve made five days of work so far. Woo hoo. I even manage to get through an intake, complete with the funnest amount of paperwork EVER! I can’t wait til next week!

I know, I know, my joy is infectious. Which is surprising because my hair started to fall out yesterday when I was busy showering for work and believed that I had been attached either by leeches or wet black snakes all over my body. Turns out it was just chunks of hair. You really can’t notice yet, and I am hoping it stays that way until at least Friday night, because if it lasts that long, I am having Andy shave the sides and I am gonna rock a mohawk this weekend. There’s definitely not enough left for liberty spikes, but hopefully I can get a really wicked mohawk going this weekend. Maybe I’ll even color it with some kool-aid for old time’s sake. This will probably be the last time I will ever dare a mohawk, so mark your calendars.

Much discussion was had yesterday about the impending loss of eyebrows as well – if you have followed this blog from the beginning, or if you know anything about hair loss from chemo – you will know that you lose ALL your hair. Legs, arms, pubes, eyelashes and eyebrows along with the hair on your head. I don’t mind the legs at all. Having no eyelashes is odd, but no eyebrows weirds me out too. I didn’t do anything last time about them, but I am going to this time. I don’t want to draw them on, because that just doesn’t work for me, but I might glue some on, or maybe crochet some, or use fuzzy fake caterpillars. Think of the fun when I drop one on the floor at work…EEK caterpillar! Nope, just an eyebrow. Think of all the things I can put above my eyes in lieu of eyebrows. Plastic farm animals. Spaghetti, cooked of course. Orange slices. Gummy worms. Duct tape. They can also come is different shapes – like a big V between my eyes to scare people. Or just one raised eyebrow. Or I can attach them to my glasses. For a change of pace, I can attach them to the back of my head, just to keep it interesting. It will be nice not to wake up with a mouth full of hair in the morning, or have to drag the nest of hair out of the drain. It takes at least 5 minutes off the time it takes for me to get ready in the morning.

In less exciting news, I found out that in my quest to make sure I had mid-length disability insurance I elect for the coverage that would last until I was seventy. Unfortunately, that means I need 90 unpaid days before it will kick in, instead of 15. FML. I am less worried about money than I am keeping my health insurance – if I were to lose that, I’d really be fucked. I am blessed with excellent health care coverage. But you know me, ever the pluck entrepreneur, I’ve got some stuff to make and sell if I find myself really desperate for cash. And no, I don’t mean my painkillers. Or Meth. Speaking of making things, last time I lost my hair, I made fancy little hair animal sculptures for those who so desired them – I hate to waste perfectly good hair. So if you would like a rabbit, or a puppy, or perhaps a lemur (they are all gonna look the same, I will just give them exotic animal names for your enjoyment) leave me a comment on this here blog, and one can be yours, gratis. I will even mail these special trinkets for those of you who may live on the favored coast, if you find you can’t live with out one. The one thing I am a touch negative about is, that when my hair comes back, it comes back curly, and I hate looking like one of the hair bear bunch (see below)

bear

I took a brief interlude to do some eyebrow research and as you can see there are a lot of creative options. I did not know, but wasn’t surprised to find out, you can also buy stick on eyebrows made with hair, for that realistic look. I am pretty sure I will find a better alternative. Like fur. But for your viewing pleasure, I provide the following collage. I’m quite fond of the black eyes of death. It will give me that Uncle Fester look I so covet.

imagineyebrow

Also during my little break, I finally checked my blood tests from yesterday to see what’s what. My CA-125 marker is lower than earlier this month, which is good, but still not in the normal range, but I will take what I can get. Other levels are lower than last time, and lower in a not so good way, which means I will either get a bag full of liquid vitamins and stuff at chemo, or, the dreaded neulasta shot. Let’s just hope I can get them up a little with better food choices by next Monday. It’s amazing what the internet can teach you, and while also filling you with dread. Like when I looked up CA 125. It’s the marker in your blood for ovarian/endometrial cancer. It was only slightly elevated in this test – two weeks ago is was about 10 points higher. Which means the chemo seems to be doing its job. Well, of course it is, my hair is falling out and I am tired as shit. Until this month, I didn’t know what a CA 125 marker was. I didn’t what a lot of things on my blood test meant. Now, I know – and believe me, I could have gotten through life without having to know, ever. But I do, and I imagine, am wiser for it.

I am trying to get back to healthy eating once again – I had made the most beautiful taco salad this morning with the other half of the marvelous avocado I had yesterday. I was swinging my bag on the way in to work and out flew the salad. A sad, sorrowful mass of spring mix, perfect avocado, sweet yellow cherry tomatoes, taco meat and beans all lightly dressed with some sour cream, like a healthy oil slick on the office floor. And since the healthiest of lunches was destroyed, I had to eat cookies for lunch, and a bag of chips for dinner. We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m still a little broken up over it.

Well that’s about it, happy people. Tomorrow is hug it out hump day. I am limiting my hugging lately because, I am not sure if you know this, but people are germy. Like until you have to be careful about being around the infectious, you don’t really think much about germs. Now there are certain people I will conscientiously avoid, because they don’t wash their hands. I constantly use hand sanitizer to the point that I have icky dry patches on my hands. Last thing I need right now is the flu or a cold. I have also manage to get past some of the anxiety issues keeping me up at night. I slept a solid six hours last night. Go me! I’m going for the big six again tonight…so I must bid you all most pleasant dreams and restful slumbers. I’m hoping for a snow delay in the morning – it’s unlikely, but a girl can dream. And let me know about those hair sculptures. Peace, lovelies.


Return, Resolutions, Repeat

I'm back....

I’m back….

That’s right, my lovelies – I did not run over any armadillos, I did not get a cat, I did not mix vodka with orange juice, I did not become a brain eating zombie, I managed to stay awake for at least one hour a day, I resolved to clean the house when absolutely necessary (which it never truly was), I did not use a drone to attack the neighbors, I ate no cauliflower, I checked my phone once a day, and I never told facebook what city I live in, no matter how many times it asked. 10 Resolutions made, 10 completed. Completing such daunting tasks gives me such a sense of satisfaction. I don’t know that I can top this in 2015, but damn it, what’s live without challenge?

I’ll get to this year’s resolutions in a moment. I really want to give the real ending to the attack on the cyst, because I couldn’t before I told my dad (aka pop) the facts – I didn’t want to ruin the holiday for him or for my niece – I mean I had to ruin it for Andy and some of my brothers, co-workers and friends, and of course, it was a bit of a downer for me too, but I couldn’t do it to my dad. I think I’ve told most people, if I haven’t and this is where you get the news first, I’m sorry. It’s not the thing you get any enjoyment out of telling people and one thing I’ve learned is that no matter how many people I tell, there’s always going to be someone that I forgot to. I can think of five or ten or fifteen now. Fact is, I’m tired of telling people. Here’s a fact: Telling people you have cancer (again) is fucking hard. You feel bad that your are giving people bad news, you feel you have to make them feel better, they always ask how they can help and it’s just generally a bad thing. If I tell you, just tell me that you love me. Or if you don’t love me, just say, hey, whatever you need. I’ll keep talking if I feel like talking about it, and if I don’t keep talking about it, and you have questions, ask me. I have a blog, seriously, it’s not like this shit is secret.

Anyhow, I read the CT scan before the surgery. I saw the words “possible malignancy” – I saw the look on the ER doctors face when he had to tell me there were some concerning items on the scan. I know my body. I knew something was wrong. After surgery, when Minion 1 arrived, and I asked her about the offending nodule and if they found cancer, she danced around it, saying that they “don’t think” anything is wrong, but they are only using human eyes. I much preferred the way I found out the first time – the resident held my hand and said it straight up, we can’t confirm it yet, but from the preliminary pathology, it looks like cancer. This time, I knew I was going to hear not very good news at my appointment. I know when they take a biopsy, they look at the sample to make sure it’s a good one. They don’t just randomly snap out a bit of tissue and hope for the best. And while they are checking, they can notice whether they have good cells or abnormal cells. Sure, they may not know if it’s malignant with certainty, but they know if something’s up or not. Minion 1 needs to work on her delivery. I should give lessons.

I also knew I wasn’t healing as quickly as I have in the past. I had some pretty hideous bruising. I lost my appetite. I knew things were different, but I wanted to believe what the Minion 1 told me. So when I got to my appointment on the 22nd, I was ready for the news, or at least I thought so. I went by myself because Andy was in Pittsburgh with my nephew and brothers for a Steelers game. I didn’t want him to not have fun because I had an appointment. I asked my niece’s mom to go with me last minute, but she couldn’t. So I just resigned myself to going it alone. I got there on time, checked in, and waited. I got weighed, and found out I’d lost 40lbs since October. That’s a lot. And then I waited. My blood pressure was almost normal, but there was much excitement by the nurse when I told her I was off the morphine and just taking percocet. I wasn’t in pain. That’s good. Yay. No need to undress. Hang out, Dr. will be in. Now, Dr. K is a presence. He’s a tall, funny guy, with a southern twang to his voice and he’s always cracking jokes with nurses and staff and patients. I suppose you have to when you have to give the news he’s giving. He’s almost never late. I can sometimes hear him talking to other patients when I wait for him. Today I can hear him telling one that they will beat this thing, and that they will be in to review the chemo and radiation schedule with her, etc, etc, etc. Not good. It’s still taking a while for him to see me. I wonder where my treatment coordinator is – I have presents for her and Nurse Sue and Dr. K – just little holiday gifts to say thanks. I don’t hear Anne outside either – not good. Finally, Dr. K arrives with Minion 2 from the ER nightmare. They sit down. Sit. That doesn’t usually happen, so yes, it’s another harbinger of doom. Dr. K looks at me and doesn’t mess around – the biopsy shows cancer, and launches into how we could treat it. No surgery, no radiation, two different ways to address it with chemo, there’s no protocol for cancer in this area, quite frankly he doesn’t even know how or why it came back, it shouldn’t have at this point, once you pass two years, there’s a much less likelihood of recurrence. I just kinda look at him, and tell him I don’t have dying on my agenda. He said that’s good because he hasn’t, and isn’t, giving me permission to die. I’m not crying, I’m almost relieved because now I know – I awkwardly hand him the card and ornament I brought him – tell him I don’t know if he Jewish, or celebrates Kwanza or Christmas, but he can hang the ornament on his Hanukkah bush if he wants to – and thank him for taking such good care of me. I can tell this is as hard on him as it is for me. I think the Minion 2 wants to bolt, but is glad I am not crying and that I am, matter-of-factly, addressing what I need to do. Dr. K tells him to talk to me about the MRI, since he hasn’t staged it yet, and needs the MRI to determine what all is happening in the dark recesses of where the stupid pufferfish lies. I tell him I think the unwieldy beast is starting its dark resurgence because I’m having some discomfort in the area, and he says that’s what he wants to see on the MRI. Minion 2 has ceased sweating, I truly believe he thought I would lose it like I did when they offered my the psych hold in the ER. I maintained calm. OK, I was in shock, but it still didn’t involve crying.

You are never really prepared for the news. I’m still not sure I have accepted it, and probably won’t until they hang the poison bag on the rack and it starts dripping into my arm. Dr. K and I hug, he assures me that we will kick cancer’s ass and be laughing about this in no time. He tells me this is a shitty way to end the year, and a shitty way to start a new one, but go home, enjoy the holiday, and they will call me with the chemo schedule the day after Christmas. I tell him I trust him, he got me through it the last time and will this time. I shake the Minion 2’s hand, and like a scared bunny, he hands me the packet of papers for checkout and flees the room. I head to checkout. As I stand there, alone, having just been told my body has betrayed me, it hits me, and I tear up. I have cancer. Fuck. The receptionist asks me about the papers – I tell her all I know is I have a 4 week appointment on the 5th, and Dr. K wants me to have an MRI. She asks if it is scheduled – I tell her I don’t know – I was just handed papers by the Minion 2. She looks, and doesn’t have a clue why I have been handed all of Dr. K’s results and notes. I suddenly realize I need a note for work, and another prescription for percocet. I ask if she can get that for me when she asks him about the other papers. She does – he tells me I’m off until after my 4 week check up. I realize we never even looked at the incisions. Good thing I heal OK. She comes back with all my papers – I ask her if she can give Anne and Sue my cards and ornaments. She will. I’m still not really connecting to any of this. I get my appointment for the MRI and visit summary and head for the elevators.

I don’t break down until I am in the car. Then I am a snotty, sobbing, weeping, sniveling, snorting, coughing, choking mess for about five minutes. And alone. Horribly alone. And also very glad to be alone because I don’t have to worry about making anyone else feel better about my breakdown. I text who I need to text. I need to get groceries while I am down here. It’s funny how the trauma and the mundane activities intersect here. I need to get food. I also need to get home. I start the car and go to Giant, and mindlessly wheel the cart up and down the aisles, tossing shit in I don’t really need, but I have a fuck-it-you-only-live-once attitude and decide we’re having a fucking rib roast and ask at the butcher counter for a small incredibly expensive rib roast. Two hundred dollars later, I’m checking out of Giant with my rib roast. I forget to buy water. I’m not even hungry. I need to go home and that’s the last place I want to be. My iPod won’t fucking charge. I’m not going home until I have the opportunity to sing loudly with my iPod, and preferably with OWTH, until the pain inside is purged. I must also see my friend, Pony-Pony. I need some normality in this surreal scene. I also need gas. Actually, GAS first.

So I drive – first to a gas station. I fuel up and head to the MHS barn to see Pony-Pony. He’s not there. They probably are making him be the stupid donkey is some live nativity somewhere. I keep driving. I see my friends, the goats, at the goat barn, and I yell “fuck you” at the sheep in their pasture. My iPod is still not charged. I see some cows. I see another pony, and another, none of which are Pony-Pony, but at least I saw them. I keep driving. I realize my blood sugar is quite low, and I am a little shaky – I’ll got to Hardee’s. This whole time I feel like I am in weird freaky film where my character is in a dream world unbeknownst to everyone who sees her. It’s like none of this is real. I finally get the iPod charged enough to commence screamsinging. Fortunately, RTE 322 is not busy and I can cry and sing and drive all at once with no worries. It’s not real. It’s not real. I get to Hardee’s and order some sort of burger and onion rings. I manage to choke down the onion rings. I head home.

The drive was cathartic. And pretty scary. Occasionally I would look down at the speedometer during pauses between songs. I pushed 100+mph more than a few times. It’s not really my fault the car goes that fast. I slowed down several times. I wanted to get home and then I didn’t. I would have to tell Andy and then other people. This is the part that sucks. I finally drove home – I walked in and Andy was all excited to tell me about his trip and the game – and I killed that with a look. He asked how the visit went and I lost it. I sobbed and cried and told him how sorry I was he had to go through this all again. My kid is a good hugger. He told me I was the strongest person he knew and it was just cancer, and I could beat it. Then he proceeded to hug me some more. When he was adequately covered in snot, he went and got the groceries from the car. I didn’t want my expensive rib roast being stolen in this neighborhood

The C-monster is such a fucking burden. Not only do you have to worry about being sick, but you have to worry about bills and work, and the house and telling people and not upsetting people all while being told that this is the time you are supposed to focus on yourself. If there are people who are able to do that, I wish they would have a network where you could find out their secret. Because once you recover from the shock, you have to think about who to tell, and when and where and how and how are they gonna react and if they are old, like my dad, are you going to kill them? And then there’s the logistics – appointments and chemo and food and laundry and the joys of all the changes in smell and touch and taste. And when you have been the head of household for the last 24 years, that just doesn’t stop, you still worry about that. It’s just a lot. And no matter how much you have people tell you they will do whatever they can to help you, you don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to be a burden, and you want to be strong and tackle this yourself.

I’m tired of writing tonight, and I am tired of watching this fucking pathetic Steelers game while I type. I’m tired of being sick and doctor’s appointments, and not wanting to get out of bed. At least there’s minimal pain. At least there’s plenty of food in our house and we have functioning utilities. I can still write. My bed is comfy. I have a new blanket to take to chemo with me. It’s all gonna be over in 18 weeks (it better be). Tomorrow is the MRI – it will be a whole new experience for me, so look forward to that blog entry. I sure hope there’s no metal inside that suddenly gets torn from my body like I’ve seen in horror movies.

Good night my happy people…I’ll be keeping you updated – hug on your loved ones and do something fun with them before they can’t, or you can’t. Sleep well. Oh, about those resolutions, still working on them. I won’t be bound by your constrictive linear timetables. Kisses.

Oh yeah – three years ago yesterday, I got my first diagnosis. Happy Anniversary. I didn’t know the 3rd anniversary was also cancer.


 My Days in Poppyland…

Red_Poppy_Fields

 

So, I’m trying to wean off of the morphine. I had my appointment with Dr. K. My treatment plan is this: suffer. No, really, it’s manage the pain for now, try to lose 30lbs or the weight of a medium size dog, and then try some laparoscopic surgery in the New Year. Not exactly what I wanted to hear as my doctor was stabbing me in the side saying “yep, your cyst is back and no, I won’t cut you open.” Apparently, the pufferfish is not the toxic life threatening kind of blowfish. It’s just a pest. An inconvenience. A bother. And I’m stuck with it at least a while longer. Because of where it is, and my “fluffiness”, the Dr. would like to see me drop some “fluff” to be in a better place for the procedure. He has said if he goes in and it would be more hazardous to remove it, than it would to leave it be, it’s gonna stay. If he can’t get it with a laser, I’m stuck with it unless something more dangerous grows alongside it or I am impregnated as part of an alien experiment. It’s like a baby I’ll never deliver. Again, another example of me wishing for something and getting it, but only in the universe’s twisted system of fulfilling my dreams.

So my days are now categorized into “manageable” and “unmanageable” – the pain is ever present, but there are days when it is tolerable, and days, like this morning, where it is brutally cruel and tortuous. I waited too long to take a pill, and I was rewarded with two hours of writhing around on the bed bellowing like an elephant seal and looking like a beached beluga whale. And to make is stop, or rather, dull it, I had to double up on the opiates and send myself into a coma for an hour until it was time to go to work. Don’t worry, I am smart enough to not drive on coma mornings. And every time this happens, I make a silent wish that medical marijuana will someday be the law in PA. Because I believe that much of my pain would be squelched by a cannabis brownie.

This will not deter me from the Wine and Whine OTR trip this weekend in which we shall descend on local wineries like thirsty locusts and suck up grape nectar until we tumble back onto the bus. I’ve never done one of these wine tasting trips, but I am looking forward to it. Although I believe there’s some sort of cautionary bit on my prescriptions about alcohol intensifying the effects. Also long as it’s not intensifying the pain, I should be OK.

I apologize for my failure in the witty blogging that you’ve grown accustomed to, but the narcotics dull my shine. I hate not being myself, and I hate being in pain and there’s no happy medium. But I’ve committed to myself to write my way through this, so maybe one other person who is struggling with the magnificent residual gift of the c-monster doesn’t feel insane. They give you all these pamphlets about what treatment is like and what the effects of chemo are, etc, etc. And they show all these smiling “survivors” on TV, all bright and beautiful – but what you don’t hear about is all the goodies that the disease and the treatment leave behind. I’m still having to randomly smell phantom odors (all of which are unpleasant), I’m tired a lot, my hair still tries to be curly, and then there’s this fucking stupid cyst. But there’s no evidence of any cancer, so for that I’m grateful

So since I took my happy little blue pill an hour ago, I’m nodding off as I type, so this signals I should try to get some rest while I’m in the honeymoon stage of numbness. But before I go, I should announce that in my efforts to defluffitize, I’ll be trying to eat in a healthy manner. That means no more “single serving” pints of Ben and Jerry’s and stuffing pizza in my mouth like I am the beaked creature in Beetlejuice whose head practically opened in half. I’ve asked my coworkers to punch me or knock unhealthy food from my hands at the office, so if you see me in a public space dining on sugar bombs, please feel free to do the same. I am somewhat upset that I am trying to do this during the eating season when orange kitkats, turkey cranberry paninis, and warm chocolate cookies are taunting me like tiny demon sprites around my head. And now it’s time to watch American Horror Story, because the morphine and percocet don’t give me enough weird scary dreams on their own.

Peace my pumpkins, be well.