Dating and Cancer

In my return to normal life, following the program interruption that was cancer, I find myself following blogs that aren’t just about cancer. I know. Imagine. And I find myself laughing at these blogs (no, it’s okay, they’re meant to be funny) as well as at stories I’ve been hearing from some friends lately. For a brief moment, I was even jealous. Wow, they have all this interesting stuff to blog about. Great, great material these ladies have. Then I realized the common denominator…these are all women over the age of, um, let’s go with 30, getting out into the dating world. Rich, rich material for humor if only one didn’t have to live through the stories before they could tell them. That’s when I realized a very profound thing, which of course I will share with you (and then all of you single women can collectively scream “DUH!!!” at me).
Dating is a lot like cancer.
Well, it’s like cancer treatment.
1) No matter how hard you try, you’re not quite yourself at the beginning.
2) You have to give yourself lots of pep talks.
3) The whole process can make you feel really unattractive.
4) It sometimes seems it’s all anybody talks to you about.
5) Other people usually pick up the tab for dinner.
6) Drinks can have bad side effects.
7) You become hyper-aware of your weight.
8) Everybody seems to be doing it better.
9) Everybody has advice (and only some of it is any good).
10) You make yourself go through it (the dating ritual/ chemo) because it’s supposed to be better in the end. The end is truly supposed to justify the means.
11) And, bonus, you get some really wild stories that entertain your friends.

I remember when I was in the doctor’s exam room waiting for chemo. There was a flyer on the billboard for a support group for young breast cancer patients and it included topics like “dating and cancer.” And I thought…really? Who would worry about dating during chemo? That would seem to be the last thing on one’s mind. But I suppose if you are out there dating when you get diagnosed, well, that’s one more thing to deal with. That’s one side effect I definitely avoided.

So ladies of a certain age out there dating, I guess here’s the support I can offer… at least it’s not cancer. Right?

PS. Some blogs to check out if you are a) out their dating and need to laugh and b) are not easily offended. No, seriously, do not click if you are easily offended.


47 and Starting Over
I Shoulda Been a Stripper
Me Jane

My dating "real" friends haven't started blogs yet. Despite all of my encouragement. Maybe they don't see the humor yet. Hmmmmm

Hanging with My Peeps

Thursday. "See the doctor day" at the Radiation Oncology Center. That, combined with the fact that The Machine (it's like a proper noun now, don't you think?) went down yesterday, caused a bit of a back-up in the blue gown waiting room. When I arrived, the woman who gets radiated right after me (she's 9:15) and Jane (8:45) were both in the waiting area, and Jane had a new friend with her (Jane is a popular lady; lots of her friends seem to be taking turns driving her, she rarely repeats a friend!). I learned from the radiation therapist that the day after The Machine goes down is always a stressful one--apparently a lot of patients have anxiety about this (will it work right? will there be problems? Is the radiation going to go on forever???) and the radiation therapists spend a lot of extra time dealing with more emotional issues. Except with me. We talk about shoes (from behind their metal doors and windows, and from the angle they're at, that's mostly what they see "live" of me; the rest is on the video camera). And shoes can be an emotionally charged topic, but not such that it slows down radiation.

At any rate, before I got to the shoe of the day discussion (and you know I pulled a denim and burgundy stripe pointy-toed Coach heel out of the repertoire today; oh yes I did), I was hanging with my peeps in the blue gown zone. We got to chatting as we do and I learned a few things. First, there's definitely a cancer shorthand language. If you are going through treatment you can learn everything about someone else's cancer and treatment in about 2 minutes flat. And it's pretty easy to talk about it since everyone in the room is dealing with the same thing. There's no one cringing or bursting into tears or feeling sorry for you. It's just straightforward and, well, kind of supportive (I am not in a support group!! Not!!!).

So Jane's cancer is "lower down" than mine and she did not have to have chemo. Her friend is also a cancer survivor and did not have chemo. So they were interested in what Ms. 9:15 and I were discussing--which was of course, hair! 9:15 is the lady that I taught the scarf-tying to (and she looks very cute in her scarves!). Her hair was previously strawberry blonde--it's growing back white! My hair was previously blonde and probably a dark blonde if I wasn't in the sun and adding highlights, but it's growing back brunette. Really brunette. Neither one of us has enough hair to know if it will also be curly. Heck, my eyelashes aren't long enough to even have an upward bend to them yet (right--they stick straight out). They were surprised to learn I was "normally" blonde--they see me in a scarf or in the red wig all the time. And I realized there is a whole group of folks in my life now who've never once been tempted to call me "Blondie" or make a blonde joke, or assume I'm a ditz!!

Eventually Mr. 9:30 arrived with the same friend who's been bringing him everyday. We were discussing chemo (and the fact that I kept working through mine) and Mr. 9:30 joined in (he's normally pretty quiet)--turns out he just finished chemo on Monday. 3 days ago!! He's doing chemo and radiation at the same time. He had throat cancer (and yeah, I'm using the past tense--and hoping that's true). So that's why he doesn't join in much--kinda painful to talk. He hasn't eaten solid food in two weeks and is learning to hate Ensure. He is on radiation #31 and thus will be the first of us to graduate. He looked pretty good for what he's been through. He also didn't get nauseous from the chemo. And thank goodness because that would be brutal!

And finally, I learned that Ms. 9:15 had a 15cm tumor! That's 10 times the size of mine. The biggest her doctor had ever seen. We were comparing the number of radiation treatments we each had to have. She and I are both breast cancer patients and both get 33 radiations. But my last 3 are the "power boost" targeted to the tumor bed. Her last 5 are the "boost." We decided that must be because of the size of the treated area--and then of course cracked up laughing because that sounded like we were saying she had bigger boobs than me (She doesn't; she had a masectomy). But, we did compare where size does matter--the tumor size. That's how I learned she had basically a baseball in her boob. Yikes!! No wonder her hair went white!

I suspect that the two friends who were not the cancer patients are not sleeping well tonight--you probably don't want to be in a room of cancer patients all telling war stories about chemo and radiation side effects and tumor growth and surgeries. Unless you are a cancer patient and then somehow, you kind of start to feel normal. For the most part, we were actually laughing at the absurdity of it all.

But of course eventually it was my turn at The Machine. When I was done Mr. 9:30 told me he'd always noticed that my radiation treatments were much faster than his--funny how we pay attention to these things. Then his friend paid me a very nice compliment. He said that while I was getting treated they were all discussing that I had such a nice "persona" and cheerful affect on others. He thought I should know that and know that it was appreciated. I think I blushed. I did however remember to say thank you. I don't really think of myself as a cheerful person (particualrly in the morning!), so I was caught offguard. But I kind of liked it!

Anyway, I did see the doctor. The sharp shooting pains are normal and I can try taking ibuprofren/ anti-inflammatory medicines. The pressure pain is not so usual. So now I'm thinking it might be too much caffeine. I was nearly off caffeine during chemo and have slowly crept back up to my many, many cups of French Roast a day (not to mention those trashy Mountain Dew binges). I backed off it today and didn't have the pressure pain. Hmmm.... further study is necessary.

So ends treatment 16. Tomorrow marks the halfway point. 50 yard line, folks. Goal in sight.

3 Down 30 To Go

It's Friday and that means I've finished my first week of radiation. Sort of. Monday was a holiday and Tuesday was the test run, so really I've only had 3 of my 33 treatments. Only 30 more mornings of dragging my butt out of bed and heading down to the oncology center to be zapped. I get weekends off though which is nice for two reasons. 1) I get to sleep in tomorrow and 2) that gives a nice symmetry to my treatments as the 33rd and final treatment will occur on a Friday. I should be done at 9:30a.m. on Friday July 10th. Yeah, don't expect to see me in the office that day. There will be some celebrating to do. If I can stay awake for it.

I'm not supposed to be tired yet, but I am. I'm pretty sure it's because the office has been extremely busy--both with actual work (this is good; food on the table is good) and with the construction for the expansion of the office. And also it's because these darn hot flashes/ night sweats/ crazies keep waking me up. I have two temperatures these days: freezing, and rip-my-clothes-off-sweaty-hot. All of that combined with the fact that I have to get to the Oncology center before 9a.m and well, you have yourself one grumpy tired cancer patient. Probably not anything to do with the radiation just yet.

I did do a little more reading up on radiation and side effects. It may have been best if I hadn't. I don't need to worry about things I can't control. But if any of you are interested, here's a link to a pretty good summary from HealthCastle.com And here's a lovely photo of what happens to the radiated area. I picked a nice one, there were many photos of much more serious skin damage. I took this one to be the normal amount of damage. And see how large the radiated area is? That's the part that's supposed to stay out of direct sunlight. So now you know why I'll be in turtlenecks for the summer.

On a brighter note (although it's hard to get brighter red than that), I'm illuminated! Er, um, no, I'm a luminary! No, that's not it...I'm all lit up...okay, well that might be misconstrued...
What I mean to say is that my friend and fellow dog lover Katie Wider is participating in the Relay for Life on June 13 and 14 and she's lighting a luminary in honor of me and Seamus (he who totally kicked cancer's butt, even as it attacked his). Thanks Katie! That lightens things up nicely.

(Keep voting on the poll over to the right. Chris is anxiously awaiting the outcome. And Roryann Clements is running quite a campaign to make sure he doesn't get to cut it until December!! What does she have against Chris??)

Eyes on the Prize

July 10th.
July 19th.
These are important dates. July 10th is when I will be done with radiation, done with all this cancer stuff, done with being a patient, and (fingers, toes, limbs, hairs, and minds crossed) done with all this cancer shit!! Except the follow-up for, you know, the rest of my life. But done!! Let the return to normal begin.

July 19th? Yeah, that's the day I'm thinking is the blow-out celebration of, well, all of the above. And I'm thinking big summer barbecue...not that we have a yard that accommodates that, but those are just details. Food, drink, friends, fun, no fatigue. That's the goal.

Okay, so that's the happy stuff. There are a few things I need to do between now and then. Just a few. I met the radiation oncologist today. Nice facility and it really is pretty close to my office. I liked the staff and I liked the doctor. So I think this will work out. The facility is pretty nice too, sort of calming. But I did get my first glimpse of why some folks find radiation psychologically tougher than chemo. For one, some of the patients are delivered by ambulance. There's reserved ambulance parking out front. Two spaces. And two of the patients I saw there were in wheelchairs. (Okay, and I'll tell you this part too-- when I was searching for the picture that I used in yesterday's posting...I came across a picture of a young girl getting radiation to her brain for a brain tumor; the picture came from the family's blog and I got sucked in and read it. She died at 15 years old.) Radiation is really serious and some people have really really serious stuff going on. My breast cancer seems to just pale in comparison. I feel a little like I'm in the emergency room for a common cold. Only, you know, more serious.

Turns out I'll get 33 treatments. 30 to the entire breast and then 3 that they call a "boost" to the specific tumor area. That's right, I get a "boob boost." (The doctor said in all her time doing this no one had ever called it a "boob boost." How is that??? It's so obvious!) And it's just not as good as it sounds. At all. Before I start, I need to get a CT scan--that will be next Tuesday. Then Thursday I get yet another blood test. (Insert weekend of debauchery here; and now you can see why.) After the Memorial day weekend, I go in for a "simulation" radiation session. They will mark me in 3 spots with "tattoos"--yeah, tattoos. And yeah, permanent. Just three little dots (apparently they will look like freckles...sure, sure they will) so they can line up the radiation exactly the same each time. The tattoos aren't on the breast. Which is kind of a relief, although I suppose those would at least be more hidden. They are sort of across the rib cage, right above the waist. I'll keep you posted on that, but suffice it to say I have no tattoos currently. I don't even have pierced ears. I'm kind of a wimp (yeah, that's funny now; but it's true). I'm not liking this part.

The day after the simulation session (so that will be Wednesday, May 27th) I start the radiation. And I go every weekday for 33 days. 33. Days. Which gets me to July 10th. Yep. Every day. Every. Single. Day. Until July 10th.

And here's how it works: Basically, each patient has the same time slot. So I will go at the same time every day. I'm thinking 9a.m. or, um, 9:15. That way I can be radiation girl, and then head into my office and be Lawyer Lady for the rest of the day uninterrupted. You know, after I stop at Starbucks. When I come to the oncology center I just walk in, make sure the receptionist sees me so she notifies the techs that I'm there, and then I go into the changing room area, slip out of my clothes (waist up), don the ever-fashionable hospital gown (open to the back), put my clothes in a locker and then sit and wait out in the little waiting area until the tech comes and gets me. Which shouldn't be too long, since they schedule appointments 15 minutes apart. Apparently the whole appointment takes only about 15 minutes. The radiation itself is very quick, most of the time is spent aligning me. See, I lay on this table thing, arms above my head, holding on to a bar, while they position me to the exact spot. Then they leave the room, zap me, and that's it. I return to my locker, get my clothes, get dressed and get to work. It sort of reminded me of a spa--without the eucalyptus and well, any other luxury. The way you walk in, greet the receptionist, change clothes, use your locker, and then head out to a little waiting room to wait for the masseuse/ manicurist/ facialist/ radiation tech to come get you. They even had a water cooler (I'm supposed to drink a lot of fluids during radiation. Shots anyone??)

And then of course there are side effects. Of course there are. Although in my consultation the nurse went through a whole list of questions about my health and what I'd experienced in chemotherapy. And jeez, once I listed out all of the side effects I had experienced, it seems the radiation can't help but be a breeze by comparison. See, from the things I've heard and seen, this may surprise you, but my chemo experience wasn't that bad. I was still working, moving about, going out, etc. Lots of people have it worse. Still, when I had to keep saying "yes. yes. yes." to all the "have you had....[insert horrible side effect]" it seemed pretty nasty. (Bear in mind, my general impression is that chemo isn't as bad as I thought it would be!). Okay, so, the things to know about radiation therapy:

1. Yeah, they call it "therapy."
2. I have to stop the anti-oxidants and vitamin supplements that were so helpful during chemo. Radiation is an oxidant. And in order for it to work...right, I can't "anti" oxidant it.
3. I see the doctor every Thursday. Every Thursday! (Take that chemo oncologist "Absolutely not" woman!!)
4. Fatigue is common (especially with chemo preceding radiation)
5. bone pain can occur
6. the skin in the treated area (right breast, in case you really haven't been paying attention) will get dry, and "burned" --like a sunburn. On my entire breast.
7. I'm to wear loose clothing, no under wire bras, cotton preferred;
8. No temperature changes! (no ice packs--which I can live with; but no jacuzzi??? Again??? They're killing me. Expect me not to leave the jacuzzi over Memorial Day holiday weekend)
9. no lotions, deodorants, creams, ointments etc. But I can and should use Aloe Vera on the treated area.
10. Treatment area may not be exposed to direct sunlight. (Okay, so no topless sunbathing. I and my neighbors can live with this. But the "treated area" includes a part of the chest normally exposed when wearing a bathing suit. Oh, right, they suggest I wear a t-shirt when swimming or out in the sun. Because I'm not attractive enough these days. Maybe I'll wear socks with my sandals too.)
11. No shaving the underarm. But apparently that's okay since the hair won't grow there during the radiation (as it hasn't in two months of chemo).
12. Breast may swell and become painful.
13. Sexual desire or performance may change during treatment. (they don't say what the change might be; we're totally hoping for the best here!)
14. I will not be radioactive (so good to know).

And then they give a bad news/good news post-treatment note: The breast may be smaller (the bad news) and firmer (the good news!) after radiation. I'm sure that's just going to look totally normal--one bigger, flabbier breast and then one little perky one. Great.

Then when I get through all this (party, party, party...hey, it helps to keep my thoughts on something happy in the future), I still have lots of follow-up. I'll be at UCLA every 3 months and at the radiation oncologist two to four weeks after and then every 3 months or so as well. You'd think I had a serious disease or something! Sheesh. Have I mentioned that I'm really squeamish and generally can't handle pain, doctors, needles, hospitals, blood, or pretty much anything medical? Maybe I have to start using the past tense. I couldn't handle those things. Until I could.

Two Feet Short of Seven

I'm still going to say I made it to 7 days in a row of feeling good. Because this falls more in the "weird things that happen on chemo" category than it does "bad day." But I think I'm experiencing a little of the neuropathy they keep mentioning and asking about. You know the feeling when something, say your mouth at the dentist, gets numbed and then just as the numbness is wearing off? How you can feel things but not feel things? Yeah, that's my feet. Particularly my left foot. And both feet are swollen sausages, with little red dots all over them. And my toes keep getting little cramps. The swollen and tingly/numb feeling started yesterday...but I'm wondering now if that didn't contribute to my fantastic fall UP the stairs on Sunday (I just missed the stair--part of my foot was on it but part wasn't and down I went). The red bumps and toe cramps just started tonight. Cancer dork, indeed.

And the hives are back a bit. Sadly, it's probably my fault. My office went to Ciao Bella for Happy Hour as a "Administrative Assistant's Appreciation" get together (a day early; I have a busy staff with busy schedules of their own). I did not try yet another glass of wine in yet another futile science experiment. I had Rum & Diet Coke. Clearly, Diet Coke exarcebates the hives. It might also be this 100+ degree weather we are having. I know the hot shower makes the red bumps show up in all their glory, so perhaps the heat does too. I'm going with that.

I once again also learned that two client meetings at work is about my energy limit. Today I had two meetings and a conference call and that was it for me. Nap time. Or, er, happy hour time. I still consider today a good day though. Many of you assured me in blog comments and emails that not crying was okay and some of you even know others who didn't cry when they were diagnosed and dealing with cancer either. Phew. Thank goodness, because I had no idea how I was going to start faking drama and "real" emotion. Luckily, Lori offered up that she'd been in a car accident and I could cry for her. And I will. I just need to know which Lori it was! I sent flowers, wine, chocolates and a gorgeous card...if you didn't get it, I obviously had the wrong Lori ;-) (Lori, Kathy, Nancy and Monica-- if you have no photo next to your name when you leave comments--I need a last initial!!).

I also received a fun surprise in the mail. Another mystery! Someone way smarter than me found Biotene gum online and sent me a big box!! (I think it has 8 packages of gum in it!!). There was no card or name though. So I'm thinking Zee Beard strikes again? Or, it could be Stacey Aldstadt since she's twice driven me around in search of the gum (and other products). Or it could be Holly Gunnette since she in essence left a comment that said "I have Biotene gum and you don't! neener neener neener!" And then told me she couldn't remember where she bought it but it was somewhere local. Maybe she felt bad after teasing me like that. The package did ship post tax-season, she would have had time then. Hmmmm..... The mystery deepens. Whomever it was--thank you very much! I've already tested it out and it will work nicely.

Tomorrow is day 14 after chemo #3...so that will be the end of the "danger zone." I think this was the easiest of the three. Days 15 to 21 should be smooth sailing. Okay, smooth-ish. Let's not jinx this. I still have to try to get shoes on my sausage feet tomorrow morning.

Fighting Through

3 down 1 to go. Maybe...

(Please note in photo that while I managed to coordinate my entire outfit, right down to the blue Gatorade, they gave me a pink ribbon blanket! The outrage. But I was cold. I took it.)

Chemo #3 was not as easy going as #1, but not as difficult as #2. And we were still there from 9:45 to 5:15pm. So is this improvement or not? I guess we'll see what the side effects are this time. Oh, and the talk with the doctor? Interesting.

We arrived on time and they were really, really busy. The waiting room and the infusion room were packed (and not just with Easter decorations...but there were lots of those too). Since there wasn't a chair in the infusion room available, we were sort of wondering why they insisted on us coming in early. But eventually we were called back. I did get to speak with the doctor--she actually did the pre-treatment exam. But not because I called and made the special request. It was because the nurse practitioner was gone. Speaking with the doctor was a battle. I felt like I did when I was dealing with Seamus's first veterinarian oncologist (the one who told me he'd die within the year). I remembered back then saying to Chris, "Is this just two Alpha females locked in a battle for control or is she just a know-it-all bitch who doesn't listen?" I believe he correctly answered "b." This time though, I'm the patient. And I've been probably less aggressive about my own care--at least with this doctor. I think it's because I have to do battle in a paper vest.

She came bouncing in the room discussing my rash/hives situation so at least I knew she had read the file. Or the last note in the file. But she immediately grabbed her stethoscope and moved to start the exam. I backed away and said I had a few questions. She stopped, answer quickly and moved to start the exam again. I backed away and asked another question. And basically that's how the rest of the conversation went. I'd ask one question, she'd answer while moving in to start the exam, I'd move away and ask another questions, she'd answer while moving in, I'd ask while moving away. A lovely dance. I wanted to say, "Would you mind sitting down and having an actual conversation with me?" But I"m pretty sure she'd refuse. Just like she refused to let me contact her by email. Yeah, we'll get to that. We're pretty close though, you can tell that by the photo.

So here's what I learned. She does review my file. "They" email her updates when necessary. The Friday that I had the really bad hives outbreak was a bit of an anomaly in their office--two doctors were in India, she was in Switzerland and the nurse practitioner was in Pasadena covering for one of the traveling doctors. This information was only divuleged by her when I mentioned that we knew she was in Switzerland and that the nurse practitioner was in Pasadena and it was obvious the nurse had no other doctor to talk to. The conversation went like this:

Dr.: "These side effects are very common and the nurses know how to deal with them. We deal with this stuff all the time. " moves toward me with stethoscope....

Me: leaning back, "it's not common to me. And I don't deal with it all the time. And your nurse sounded like she was guessing."

Dr.: "Well we like to have you come in so we can see what we're dealing with." (moves toward me with stethoscope....)

Me: (ducking stethoscope) "I offered to drive in. It's not like I was going to work looking like that, so my calendar had been cleared. But then your nurse said the nurse practitioner was in Pasadena. And we know you were in Switzerland. And it was obvious there was no other doctor in the Rancho Cucamonga faciltiy because the nurse was having to wait for return phone calls from Pasadena. Obviously there wasn't anyone for me to come see."

Dr. "Well there's always the emergency room, but that's not a good choice." (moves toward me with stethoscope....)
Me: (bobbing and weaving) "No, it's a terrible choice. I'd just like some assurance that somebody is overseeing my case and knows what to do about it. I feel like it's all the nurses."

Dr.:"Absolutely not. I know everything going on in your case. They call and they email me with all updates and changes. I know what's going on." (moves toward me with stethoscope....)

Me: "Can I reach you by email?"
Dr.: (drops stethoscope) "Absolutely not. I see way too many patients for that."
Me: "My surgeon didn't seem to have an issue with that."
Dr.: "Sure, he only sees you five times."

I didnt' say it, but god I wanted to point out that that's 3 more times than she's seen me!!!!!
In the end, here's what we accomplished...she switched me from the chemo that caused the allergic reactions to another one that is very close, will do the same thing, but we hope won't cause the reactions. If I have the reactions again we may re-evaluate whether to do the fourth or stop at 3 (and here she said "and just go with hormone therapy"; and I reminded her that my cancer isn't hormone receptive so that would not work. She agreed. Because, you know, she's reading my file.) She also gave me samples to try to control the indigestion/ acid-reflux. She also likes the baking soda remedy (the one my dad told me about...not anyone at the doctor's office). She suggested I take the anti-nausea/sedative medicine I already have when I'm having trouble sleeping. And then suggested something for the nightsweats too. So yeah, when cornered, she communicated and addressed medical issues. I however was exhausted. You think it's easy sitting on a table in a paper vest, dodging a stethoscope while cross-examining a fast talking doctor with wayyyyy too many patients? No. It isn't. But I do think at the end, she was paying more attention and there were efforts to be helpful. We'll see. All in all, I feel like I should have stayed with UCLA. But who knows how that would have gone either.

The actual chemo time was okay. I was already tired, and it took them awhile to get us a chair. We didn't get to a chair until after 11. And actually we ended up in the private suite--which is a hospital bed in a separate room. Sounds more comfortable and it was for the part where I was sleeping, but once I wanted to sit up and have lunch and do some reading and projects, not so comfortable. And Chris just had one little chair and no one to talk to when I slept (although he was willing to pose pointing out the lovely wig display in the suite. We don't know why it's there but it is. Along with a few hats hanging on the wall). I did take the sedative this time, and I'm back to the extra dosage of the steroid the night before and this morning, and they did load me up with Benadryl and Tagamet, so I had all sorts of things that added up to my just zonking out. For a couple hours. Unfortanately, they were doing the drip slowly (worried about the allergic reaction), so the nap didn't even get me halfway through. I had the same nurse as last time, so she wasn't taking any chances.

Chatty Cathy was there again and this time she was the one having reactions--neourpathy (which as I understood it was a tingling and numbness in your hands and feet; can't be good). We didn't see much of her though, since we were hidden in our private suite. The beanie babies are still giving their lives for the cause and the Easter decor was in full bloom. But the rest of the infusion rom was different--we didn't recognize anyone else (we saw Elizabeth and her mom in the waiting room, but the were just there for a quick check-up; mom is already in radiation and doing fine). And as Chris said "It's senior citizen day." And it pretty much was.

Then finally it was all over. No reactions. A little tired, and a little hungry (although nothing really sounded good), but not much worse for wear. Until they told me I had to come back at 11:30 on Friday for the Neulasta shot (the "bone pain" shot). It was 4pm last time--it's supposed to be 24 hours after the chemo. But they are closing their office at noon for Good Friday, so I guess to hell with the medical protocol, there are chocolate bunnies to buy! That also explains why the room was so crowded. Those who normally do Friday afternoon chemo had to come in on Thursday. They have too many patients. That's very obvious. And when you know you have too many patients, why do you close for an afternoon? It's chemo people. It's not flu shots and band-aids.

So yeah, I'm fighting through the chemo and the medical system. They both exhaust me equally. But, I have a nice long weekend ahead of me (save one trip to Rancho Cucamonga for a shot in the morning) and hopefully I'm adequately drugged up to avoid any side effects. If so, we're at Omakase for Easter Brunch. Chris's family is coming out to join us. I just hope Brein and Roryann remember to put cardboard cut out bunnies and eggs, and crepe paper, and pastel colors everywhere!! Oh, wait...I hate that stuff. It makes me feel like I'm at a doctor's office.

Chemo--the Gift that Keeps Giving

I can't decide if I'm like a really old person or a baby. I pretty much want to sleep and eat all day--although it turns out I'm pretty fussy about what I can eat. And I wake up several times a night. Generally between 4 and 5:30 a.m., I'm just tossing and turning (and getting up to get Tylenol). So which does that describe? Great grandma? newborn? Or, chemo patient? Why would those things have anything in common? Discuss amongst yourselves.

I think toward the end of this fun chemo thing I'm going to have to catalog for you all (fair warning) the side effects they say are common, less common, and rare--and then list the ones I had. There's no point in doing it now, because I get new fun little side effects all the time. Today, my hips were hurting. And if I move just wrong, I get a severe lower back shooting pain. Stop, drop, pop-off shooting pain. I suppose this is the Neulasta joint/bone pain (they say it affects the large bones and um, my hips certainly qualify). And my head is itching like crazy--I'm guessing the fuzzy bits of hair are now wanting to abandon the cranium as well. It's amazing the numerous ways your body can be affected by poison. Or, well, maybe that's not so amazing.

For your sake and mine, I do not want to focus on the craziness. There was a lighter side today. I worked from home. Chris and Laureen handled the office, so I could stay home. Which worked out really well. I got plenty of work done, but could easily take a nap as needed. And 2 naps were needed, but that allowed me to put in a full day of work. Work is great for keeping my mind off "things." But it also meant there was no real reason for me to wear make-up or gussy myself up in any way. So I spent more time than I have before bare-faced and bald. And pretty much sloppy in yoga pants and a t-shirt (Save the Tatas!). I didn't feel bad. It was kinda freeing. Not surprisingly, this does cause one to examine ones face and skull--especially since I've never seen the skull quite like this. I wasn't horrified. This is good news.

I do have two scars on my head that are more visible than before--they are at what used to be my hairline and is now a tan line (face is several shades more beige than the top of my head, as it turns out, not at all surprisingly). One is from falling down my grandparents back door stairs as a kid, and one is from where my older sister stabbed me in the head with a fork (ah, sweet childhood memories). But all in all my skull is in pretty good shape. It's not oddly shaped and doesn't have too many bumps or protrusions. This is chemo's gift to me. I know what my skull looks like--most of you don't.

And of course the face becomes more noticeable without hair. I've heard several times that I'm lucky because I have a "pretty" face and thus will look fine bald or can "pull off" just the scarf look. This cracks me up. It reminds me of when I was first diagnosed and people would say "You are a really strong person. You'll do fine." It's nice and all, but both are statements with zero credibility. Because really, you can't say anything else. If a person isn't strong or doesn't have a pretty face, what are you going to say? "Wow. You are never going to be able to handle this. You'll fall apart. And oh good lord, with that nose of yours you'll look horrific. Best of luck!" No, no you are not. You are going to say "You'll do great. You're a strong person. And you have such a pretty face." You're going to lie! But thank you anyway.

Today, examining my new look with no make-up, I came to the conclusion that I'm lucky my face is just sort of plain. So nothing really stands out--which is good now. And really, I mean that in a good way. I don't have any outstanding features (okay, I'm 5'10", and that's hard to miss, but other than that) one way or another--no particularly great facial feature (or hair when I had it) but no particularly bad one either. Most people have one or the other or several. I don't think I do (feel free to point out what I'm overlooking. I'm totally kidding. Don't say anything.) To test my theory, those of you who know me, quick...what color are my eyes? .....waiting.....waiting......Right. See? They're blue. But not the sparkling, baby blues of literature and song (and Chris). They're a really dark, oceanic blue. Almost non-descript. But they're a normal size and situated normally in my face. So basically, they're just eyes. Plain and simple. My mouth is kinda small, but my teeth are gigantic, so that averages out to a normal smile/mouth. Nose is just a nose. Chin could be stronger, but the cheekbones aren't bad, so hey, once again, bone structure is average. I'm telling you, this makes "no hair" a bit easier--I don't need it to compensate for anything in particular (except, you know, my bald head). I had time to analyze this today (ironically on the day after excoriating the hapless author who had his character analzye himslef in a window reflection). No reason, it's just really--how often am I going to see myself bald and clean-faced like that? (The answer is, well, several more months, but I'm sure I'll get over this very soon. Like now.)

There were other chemo gifts today too. I got another card in the mail (thanks Christine) and Eliza and the staff at ADV sent the beautiful flowers in the picture. That was a very nice surprise. I like that it was just to remind me they were thinking of me. Very kind. And TERA HARDEN, criminal defense attorney supreme, is going to get my jury duty summons kicked to...well...as far as we can get it kicked! Thanks Tera! And Chris brought me home the highly recommended Strawberry Banana smoothie from Jack in the Box-- Thanks for that tip TC BOND!! Works perfectly for "chemo mouth."

I also got a little love from Luxembourg. Someone checked the blog. That brings total countries to 24! To wit: US, Canada, France, Germany, Australia, Belgium, Indonesia, South Africa, India, Finland, Switzerland, New Zealand, Pakistan, Serbia, Poland, Japan, Sweden, Czech Republic, Lebanon, Ireland, Russia, Luxembourg and Hungary. Crazy isn't that? Great job spreading the word!! Anyone know anyone in Uzbekistan?

Of course, Wisconsin still hates me. Don't know why. I love their cheese. But Wisconsin, Wyoming, South Dakota, Kansas, Oklahoma, Mississippi, Alabama, Indiana, Delaware, Rhode Island, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and Alaska have all been too busy (shoveling snow and dealing with tornado warnings?) to check the blog. We're working on them though.

So yes, chemo is the gift that keeps on giving. Even if I'm making up some of the fun myself (Google analytics is endlessly amusing). But you'll be happy to know we have no big plans for this weekend. We are thinking we'll have a nice relaxing weekend...in anticipation of Day 12 on Monday. Will she crash or won't she?? I'm thinking postively. I'm registered for the Shop to Stop Breast Cancer at the Marriott Monday night. And my Cancer Vixen t-shirt arrived just in time.

Wolf at The Gate

So it occurred to me in an odd, rambling way (which is how things tend to occur to me) that cancer treatments are in many ways all about keeping the wolf at the gate away or at least on the other side of the gate. I'll get to why that particular image occurred to me in a moment. But this week, as I think we're all clear on now, has been all about dealing with the side effects of the chemotherapy, which is all about keeping the cancer-wolf on the other side of the gate. There was the white blood cell count crash. That's mostly under control. I have some energy back, my temperature has returned to normal but still tends to creep up slightly right around the 4th hour after I've taken Tylenol and I've still got to avoid being around crowds or sick people. I have three more days of antibiotics. And I'm just not a good sick person. Unless it's completely obvious I'm sick (see Monday), I tend to forget. So today I forgot the antibiotics and the wolf started licking it's chops. I took them with dinner. The antibiotics, not the wolf. I also took a nap at work for the first time. I have a little fold up mattress, blankie and pillow stashed away. And since I had two long meetings with new clients I knew my energy would be zapped if I didn't nap. So between meetings I closed my door, closed my blinds (I'm on the first floor) and took a nap. I thought I'd feel pretty silly, but I was too busy sleeping.

Then there is the hair. It did get up with me this morning, much to my surprise (and it got up with me after my nap, but don't think I wasn't worried about that!). It's still falling out but it's taking its sweet time. I'd say less came out today than yesterday. And I can't really find any bald patches. At the same time, I can't really go on not blow-drying or styling it. So the big dilemma--shave or not tomorrow night? It's a tricky one.

Then there's the mouth problems. I have no taste buds anymore. Well, I do, but they are mostly programed to "under the car hood" and "dirt." Of course, this doesn't stop me from eating. It just means I eat a little of everything trying to find something that tastes good. Then I try to remind myself that I'm supposed to eat for nutrition not taste. Then I laugh at myself. Then I berate myself. Also, now my gums and mouth in general are so tender the Sonic toothbrush is a no-go and I have to use an extra-soft bristle brush. I was already using special toothpaste and mouthwash designed for dry mouth and to increase bacteria fighting. It's called Biotine and it was recommended by my dental hygienist when I went in for my final cleaning until after chemo (right. that's another thing you can't do during chemo). The mouthwash in particular is very soothing. So now I am completely a special needs dental care person. I brush my teeth completely differently than you do. I also take a lot more Tylenol. (And chemo. Well, except for a few of you, my fellow cancer journey-ers.)

So how did I arrive at the Wolf at the Gate image? Well, when Chris got home from work today he found a little surprise at our gate. No, not a baby wolf with a note from its mother to please care for it. I know that's what you were thinking. It was a bag with two bottles of Cakebread Chardonnay! There was a card that explained that apparently Seamus has co-horts and he imposed on one of them enough that said secret friend went out and granted Chris's wish for some Cakebread Chardonnay. The card is mysteriously unsigned and only identifies the giver as a secret friend of Seamus's. Well, that hardly narrows the field! Seamus has thousands of friends. And he's very good at getting people to do his bidding. Very, very good. My first thought was Bob & Helga Wolf. They're wine people, they're very generous, and I thought the writing looked familiar. But I don't know. At any rate the "Wolf at the Gate" popped into my head and the blog post was born. A huge thank you to Seamus's secret friend who dropped off the Cakebread (and don't think I didn't review each and every card I've received trying to compare handwriting...I'm no expert is all I can say). I also got 2lbs of See's candy in the mail from a client in Washington. Here's an irony--I don't usually eat chocolate. It made me sick as a child so I never had a taste for it. But I had a piece of the See's candy....and it tasted good!! Apparently my world is just flopped upside down.

Some other fun (probably only to me) updates. 12 countries have now lit up on the blog Google map: US, Canada, England, France, Germany, Indonesia, Lebanon, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Switzerland and South Africa! (Thanks Bevin for checking in from South Africa and becoming a blog follower. And gosh yes we hope to be wine tasting in Cape Town with you and Delein when all "this" is over!)

There are also 30 states (well, 29 states and DC) checked in. We're doing well. Wisconsin, Montana and North Dakota remain hopelessly out of touch, as does Nevada of all places. Is no one going to Vegas anymore? No, actually, they aren't.

On a final note--there is a new poll over to the right. It's time to answer Chris's question. Who is the break-out star of this blog?? Vote early, Vote often.