Jingle Bells, Cancer Dwells

jingle bells

JINGLE BELLS, CANCER DWELLS

CHEMO ALL THE WAY…

OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO HIDE

IN A WIG THAT’S ‘TINA FEY’, HEY!

JINGLE BELLS, HOLIDAY SPELLS,

SIDE EFFECTS GONE AWRY.

FINGERS AND TOES, CAN’T FEEL THOSE,

AND MY NAILS ARE GONNA DIE.

TASTE BUDS ALL BUT DEAD,

NOT ONE HAIR ON MY HEAD,

A CONSTANT RUNNY NOSE,

AND THAT’S NOT ALL OF THOSE…

EYES THAT WATER NON-STOP,

RASHES THAT BURN AND POP,

WEIRD STUFF THAT KEEPS HAPPENING…

IT’S ENOUGH TO JUST YELL “STOP!

Ohhhhhh JINGLE BELLS, HER-2 CELLS

MUTATING RIGHT ALONG.

YOU CAN’T FOOL ME,

‘CAUSE I’M ON IT, SEE?

BANISH YE! BE GONE!

CANCER SUCKS,

BUT LIKE THE OREGON DUCKS,

I’M FIGHTING FOR THE WIN.

AND WHATEVER IT TAKES,

I’LL NAVIGATE…

BECAUSE YOU CAN COUNT ME IN.

HO HO HO!   Well, it’s been a long stretch of silence on this blog, five straight weeks. During much of that time, I’ve had to lay low. Not because cancer has tripped me up, but because something as simple as the common cold seized me in a way that made me think I was in the grips of the Christmas Grinch.

It wreaked so much havoc that it depleted my energy to the point where I was mostly useless. Sure, I understand that cancer drugs reduce my ability to fight off infections and even the common cold can be monstrous…but the timing on this was just downright rotten. It stole precious time from me that I wanted to be able to spend with my daughter, who isn’t home much throughout the year. She arrived to spend time in between jobs, and for three of the four weeks she was here, I was sick. Too sick to do ANYTHING but hang at home and rest. Boy, it was so frustrating for me.

She arrived the day before my fourth round of chemo, and kept me company as I sat in the infusion chair for almost four straight hours. She took it all in, observing the somber mood of those around us, noting that one in particular must have been close to her in age, and far too young to be dealing with cancer and chemotherapy.  She stayed close, and watched as the drugs dripped their magic into my Portia.  Three weeks later, she came along with me to my fifth chemo (which I coughed incessantly throughout).  That happened to be the day before Thanksgiving, which meant that I couldn’t eat much on Thanksgiving Day, which really wasn’t a problem since I can’t taste anything anyhow. But our family was together for our first holiday in our new home, so that in and of itself was very special. There were eight of us: both our boys, their wives, our grandson (who, at two and a half years old, is already a great spirit booster), and of course our daughter.  The weather was wonderful and we spent time playing a family round of golf using rubber golf balls and hitting to pins that hubby and sons set up all over the property. Then there was a brief game of lacrosse that followed.   It was a Thanksgiving wrapped in blessings. We’ve always been a close knit bunch, and I’ve never taken that for granted. Our great fortune has been that we’ve somehow managed to raise three children that have found their wings and soared. It’s every parent’s dream, and knowing that our dream has been realized brings a joy that knows no bounds.  I ask you, what more could a parent want?

It was a weepy farewell as children returned to their far away homes at the end of the holiday weekend.  Chemo round six is coming up on December 19th …just in time for the Christmas holiday.  And that leaves me thinking that this song needs just a brief second verse:

DASHING TO THE LAB,

FINGER POKED WITH A STAB.

LAUGHING ALL THE WAY

AS BLOOD COUNTS SWING AND SWAY.

BELLS ON CHEMO BRAIN RING,

MAKING SPIRITS BRIGHT.

IT’S A TRICK TO NAVIGATE

THIS JOURNEY I’M ON, EVERY NIGHT.

 ♦

Ohhhh, JINGLE BELLS, CANCER CELLS

LURKING ALL ALONG.

CAN’T FOOL ME!

I’M ON IT, SEE?

BANISH YE! BE GONE!

 ♦

CANCER SUCKS,

BUT LIKE THE OREGON DUCKS

I’M FIGHTING FOR THE WIN.

WHATEVER IT TAKES,

I’LL NAVIGATE…

‘CAUSE YOU CAN COUNT ME IN!

 ♦

VIEW FROM TOP OF OUR PROPERTY

 FROM OUR HOME TO YOURS, BLESSINGS THIS HOLIDAY SEASON!

When Life Throws a Curveball, Reposition the Mitt

Screen Shot 2014-11-01 at 11.34.47 PMMadison Bumgarner, Buster Posey and every single one of our San Francisco Giants have proven that the impossible isn’t so impossible after all. It’s what you believe you can do, regardless of what the odds are. Winning their third World Series in five years was the epitome of focus, grit and a sheer determination personified by those who really understand what the game is all about. They left it all on the field.

It’s been a busy few months. It’s hard to believe that I’m just one week away from my fourth round of cancer drugs. So, here’s the update for those of you interested to follow along.

Portia and I are getting along just fine. My golf game hasn’t been compromised at all, and if anything, maybe it’s improved just a bit. I played 9 holes just the other day, walking the course, surprised at the great golf shots that somehow were catapulted off my club heads. It was a day to enjoy with my golf buddies, and a stretch of several hours where I could simply enjoy the fresh air, exercise and camaraderie of those who also love the crazy little sport that drives most men crazy. I especially love when I can feel rather like my old self, temporarily forgetting about my ‘new normal.’

Not that it’s been bad…it hasn’t. Sure, the drugs have some side effects that seem to be more prominent in the first week or so after treatment, and then suddenly on about day ten, they dissipate. But they are manageable. With each visit to the oncologist I feel blessed, especially when I look around at others getting chemo on the days I’m there doing the same. It’s a somber place. I don’t do somber very well.

I’m out and about most every day even when I’m feeling less than stellar. I’m resting when I feel my body telling me to ‘chill’. I’m keeping pace with work and all of my clients, who tell me how wonderful I look.

I know I look like a complete imposter in that silly wig, or like an aging gypsy with one of my many new scarves. I just suck it up and motor onward. Because that’s what stealth survivor’s do. We don’t waste time dwelling on the stupid stuff. We focus on the priorities. Hair? Overrated.

I silently chuckle as everyone compliments my clear complexion. They think it’s the drugs. Newsflash: my complexion has always been clear. Obviously no one ever noticed before I lost my hair to chemo. So, I’m thinking that when (and if) my hair ever grows back, I may just keep it super short. I think that may be the more flattering look.

My oncologist is very pleased I’m doing so well. Last time I saw her, she remarked about my ‘wonderful attitude’. Her bedside manner isn’t all that fuzzy, but I’m not there for her personality. I have noticed a rogue smile sometimes escapes her when we chat about my progress. And it shows up again after I give her a departing hug of gratitude when our time is up…an awkward moment for her I think. “Sorry, I’m a hugger,” I told her this last time. Then I quickly made a mental note to not hug her next time. I’m so appreciative of her careful oversight and management of my challenging situation, that I instinctually reach to give her a departing hug. She’s Head of Oncology and Hematology. I think hugs are probably off limits at that level. Really, I need to stop.

Yesterday was my nadir day…the day when my blood counts are at their lowest, always two weeks post chemo. I go in each nadir day and get my blood work done. After a finger poke, the blood gets squeezed into a little tube and inserted into a machine that spits out a complete blood count within minutes. Nancy, my assigned oncology nurse, reviewed the test results with me. And we spoke about my progress with the side effects, followed by a quick weigh in and physical exam. She too was delighted to see me doing so well overall. “It’s your healthy lifestyle,” she said. “And her great attitude,” hubby chimed in.

Whatever it is, I’m thankful. Personally, I chalk it up to hitting the ground running. I was perfectly healthy at the time I was diagnosed.  I wasn’t run down, fatigued, or compromised in any way. I was playing GOLF for God’s sake. I may have been challenged, but I was NOT compromised.

Who knew that this surreal and bizarre turn of events would be such a complete and total game changer?

But that’s life. When an unexpected curve ball comes barreling across the plate, you’d better be a damn good catcher. Because whether it’s thrown by Madison Bumgarner or by the very essence of fate, there’s no time to do anything but reposition your mitt.

That’s all I’ve done. I’ve repositioned.       BRING IT.

When Time Slips Away

This is been quite the national news week. Ebola has dominated the headlines, and as the media ramps up the hysteria, the stories get more and more strange.

The strangest one for me is about Dr. Nancy Snyderman, the physician who took an NBC film crew to Liberia to cover the Ebola story. She’s the network’s chief medical correspondent. When her cameraman tested positive for Ebola, she and the rest of her crew were told to stay quarantined. Apparently, time just slipped away for Nancy…and she had a momentary lapse of judgement. So, what does she do? She decides to make a soup run. That’s right. She drives herself to a local restaurant in order to pick up some soup for herself. I’m just guessing here, but it must be one hell of a restaurant, and I’d love to know what kind of soup that was…and if they’d share the recipe.  Assuming they’re still open for business, that is.

Next was the coroner’s report on the death of Joan Rivers. She’d gone in for a routine outpatient procedure, an endoscopy on her throat to learn what might be causing her raspy voice. It seems time just slipped away from her doctor that day…he took selfies with Joan while she was knocked out under anesthesia, and just before she went into cardiac arrest. The coroner’s office has ruled her death ‘the result of a predictable complication’. I’m just guessing here, but I’d say there’ll be a massive lawsuit coming soon, which will now put the spotlight on all surgeons as each one of us who’ve been under anesthesia will now wonder what the hell goes on in our presence which just happens to be simultaneously in our absence. A very horrifying thought.

And then there’s the cover of People Magazine this week. Brittany Maynard is just twenty-nine years old and has terminal brain cancer. A newlywed when she was diagnosed just months ago, she and her groom have moved from California (along with her parents) to the state of Oregon which passed the Death With Dignity Act in 1997. She has chosen to leave this earth on her own terms, and in Oregon she has the legal right to do so. With prescribed drugs, she will be able to pass peacefully at the time of her choosing, rather than endure the horrific death that brain cancer would otherwise force upon her. As she watches her time slip away, she has become focused on the love of her friends and family, strength and inner peace. Every state in the union needs to get this law passed. If you disagree, push for it anyhow. You can choose your own death of suffering and pain…that’s your right as well.

BUT…the story that has really stayed with me this week is the one about Glenn Campbell. You know, the guy who hit big time with songs like Rhinestone Cowboy, Wichita Lineman, Gentle On My Mind, By The Time I Get to Phoenix, and Galveston…there’s a whole host of ‘em. If you have no idea who I’m talking about, well, you’re just a few decades too young (but if you head over to iTunes, you can take a listen). He’s won nine Grammy awards, the most recent in 2012 when he was awarded the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.

So, what’s news with him? He’s in the late stages of Alzheimer’s, yet has just released his final song video. It’s a ballad that was written for his wife. As Glenn Campbell’s time quickly slips away, he is cognizant enough to leave one last message.   It’s both a heartbreaking and tender act of lasting love, of self-awareness, of inner strength and of incredible dignity.  It’s titled ‘I’m Not Gonna Miss You’. For Glenn, that’s the blessing and the ‘only thing that selfishly remains’…because Alzheimer’s is a disease of stolen memories.  He can’t miss what he can’t remember…that’s the silver lining that Glenn has found.

Let’s hope the news next week is less memorable.

Do You Have Faith in Something Greater Than Yourself?

Today begins the month of October.  We are clearly entering into the autumn season as the leaves turn color and the evening air has a crisp coolness that settles like a comfortable blanket as the last of the lingering dusk wanes.  Stores everywhere are bombarding us with pumpkins and cornstalks, Halloween candies and costumes, jack-o-lanterns and ghouls …all on display for purchase at almost every turn.

October also shines light on the color PINK  Those familiar pink ribbons are everywhere, visible on product labels, window displays and all over the television news as well.  Unless you live under a rock, you know that they represent breast cancer awareness.   October has long been the calendar month designated to shine a very bright light on this difficult health challenge that affects millions of people every single year.

For me, it feels a bit weird, knowing that my ‘new normal’ has made it obvious to complete strangers that I am in the throes of cancer. Head scarves aren’t really in vogue right now, so unless they suspect I’ve escaped from a gypsy caravan, their next guess would be that I’m enduring chemotherapy.

Cancer often has a way of drawing attention, and I sure didn’t want that attention to turn to sympathy.  Nope, I’m not sad.  I’m not struggling. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a strong woman, I’m a fighter and I’m a doer.  I’m realistic and I understand that the way I choose to square off with whatever challenges come my way will have a clearly defined impact on the outcome of my journey.

No one knows what life will bring, on any given day.  But the reality is this:  life is fatal.  No one gets off the hook.

And what about the other months of the year?  There are of course eleven more of them. Do you know what health challenges those months are designated for?  I didn’t either, but I looked them up.  And the list is EXTENSIVE.  And it’s alarming, unless you have the good fortune of excellent health and are convinced that nothing will change your great luck as you motor forward throughout your remaining years.

But, should you or someone you know be facing a daunting health diagnosis that feels insurmountable, I offer you this video to watch.  It’s inspiring, uplifting and worth listening to over and over again.

In order to persevere, to thrive and to live life’s ultimate journey, I believe you must have faith in something greater than yourself, be it God or the daily sunrise that will never, never fail you.

January

  • Cervical Health Awareness Month
  • National Birth Defects Prevention
  • National Glaucoma Awareness Month
  • National Radon Action Month
  • Thyroid Awareness Month
  • National Winter Sports TBI Awareness Month
  • National Folic Acid Awareness Week (second week of January)

February

  • American Heart Month
  • AMD/Low Vision Awareness Month
  • National Children’s Dental Health Month
  • International Prenatal Infection Prevention Month
  • African Heritage & Health Week (first week of February)
  • Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week (February 7-14)
  • Condom Week (week of Valentine’s Day)
  • Eating Disorders Awareness Week (last week of February)
  • National “Wear Red” Day (first Friday of February)

March

  • National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month
  • National Endometriosis Awareness Month
  • National Kidney Month
  • Multiple Sclerosis Education Month (promoted by the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation and others)
  • National Nutrition Month
  • Save Your Vision Month
  • Sleep Awareness Month (promoted by the National Sleep Foundation)
  • Trisomy Awareness Month
  • Workplace Eye Wellness Month
  • Patient Safety Awareness Week (first full week of March)
  • National Sleep Awareness Week (the week before daylight savings switch)
  • Brain Awareness Week (second full week of March)
  • National Poison Prevention Week (third full week of March)

April

  • Alcohol Awareness Month
  • National Autism Awareness Month
  • National Child Abuse Prevention Month
  • National Donate Life Month
  • National Facial Protection Month
  • Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) Month
  • National Minority Health Month
  • Occupational Therapy Month
  • National Sarcoidosis Awareness Month
  • STI Awareness Month
  • Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month
  • Sports Eye Safety Awareness Month
  • Women’s Eye Health and Safety Month
  • National Public Health Week (first full week of April)
  • Minority Cancer Awareness Week (second full week of April)
  • National Infertility Awareness Week (last full week of April)
  • Every Kid Healthy Week (last full week of April)
  • World Immunization Week (last week of April)
  • National Infant Immunization Week (generally last week of April)
  • Air Quality Awareness Week (last week of April)

May

  • American Stroke Awareness Month (promoted by the National Stroke Association)
  • Arthritis Awareness Month
  • National Asthma and Allergy Awareness Month
  • Better Hearing and Speech Month
  • National Celiac Disease Awareness Month
  • Children’s Mental Health Week
  • Clean Air Month
  • Global Employee Health and Fitness Month
  • Healthy Vision Month
  • Hepatitis Awareness Month
  • Lupus Awareness Month (promoted by the Lupus Foundation of America)
  • National Mediterranean Diet Month
  • Melanoma/Skin Cancer Detection and Prevention Month
  • Mental Health Month
  • National High Blood Pressure Education Month
  • Older Americans Month
  • National Physical Fitness and Sports Month
  • National Osteoporosis Awareness and Prevention Month
  • Preecalmpsia Awareness Month
  • Ultraviolet Awareness Month
  • Children’s Mental Health Awareness Week (first full week of May)
  • Food Allergy Awareness Week (second full week of May)
  • National Women’s Health Week (begins on Mother’s Day)
  • National Alcohol- and Other Drug-Related Birth Defects Awareness Week (begins on Mother’s Day)
  • National Neuropathy Awareness Week (second full week of May)
  • National Senior Health Fitness Day (last Wednesday of May)

June

  • Cataract Awareness Month
  • Fireworks Safety Month (through July 4)
  • Hernia Awareness Month
  • Men’s Health Month
  • Myasthenia Gravis Awareness Month
  • National Aphasia Awareness Month
  • National Congenital Cytomegalovirus Awareness Month
  • National Safety Month
  • National Scleroderma Awareness Month
  • Scoliosis Awareness Month (promoted by National Scoliosis Foundation and others)
  • Helen Keller Deaf-Blind Awareness Week
  • Men’s Health Week (second week of June)
  • National Cancer Survivors Day (first Sunday of June)

July

  • Cord Blood Awareness Month
  • International Group B Strep Throat Awareness Month
  • Juvenile Arthritis Awareness Month
  • National Cleft & Craniofacial Awareness & Prevention Month

August

  • Children’s Eye Health and Safety Month
  • National Breastfeeding Month
  • National Immunization Awareness Month
  • Psoriasis Awareness Month
  • World Breastfeeding Week (first week of August)
  • National Health Center Week (second full week of August)

September

  • National Atrial Fibrillation Awareness Month
  • Childhood Cancer Awareness Month
  • National Food Safety Education Month
  • Fruit and Veggies-More Matters Month
  • Healthy Aging Month
  • National ITP Awareness Month
  • Blood Cancer Awareness Month (promoted by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society)
  • National Cholesterol Education Month
  • Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month
  • National Pediculosis Prevention Month/Head Lice Prevention Month
  • Prostate Cancer Awareness Month
  • National Recovery Month
  • National Sickle Cell Month
  • National Traumatic Brain Injury Awareness Month
  • National Yoga Awareness Month
  • Newborn Screening Awarenss Month
  • Whole Grains Month
  • World Alzheimer’s Month
  • National Suicide Prevention Week
  • World Suicide Prevention Day (10)

October

  • National Breast Cancer Awareness
  • National Down Syndrome Awareness Month
  • Eye Injury Prevention Month
  • Health Literacy Month
  • Healthy Lung Month
  • Home Eye Safety Month
  • National Physical Therapy Month
  • SIDS Awareness Month
  • Spina Bifida Awareness Month (promoted by the Spina Bifida Association)
  • Mental Illness Awareness Week (first full week of October)
  • Bone and Joint Health National Awareness Week (12-20)
  • National Health Education Week (third full week of October)
  • International Infection Prevention Week (third full week of October)
  • Respiratory Care Week (last full week of October)
  • Red Ribbon Week (last week of October)
  • World Mental Health Day (10)

November

  • National Alzheimer’s Disease Awareness Month
  • American Diabetes Month
  • COPD Awareness Month
  • Diabetic Eye Disease Month
  • National Family Caregivers Month
  • National Healthy Skin Month
  • National Hospice Palliative Care Month
  • Lung Cancer Awareness Month
  • Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month
  • National Stomach Cancer Awareness Month
  • GERD Awareness Week (Thanksgiving week)
  • Great American Smokeout (third Thursday of November)

December

  • Safe Toys and Gifts Month
  • National Influenza Vaccination Week (first full week of December)
  • World AIDS Day (1)

Ports, Portia and Hoofing It Forward.

Portia was a champ for her inaugural run today!  (For those of you just stepping in to my journey here, ‘Portia’ is the name I’ve given to the chest port that was surgically placed inside me  just two days ago.  Because I will be getting drug infusions for a very long time (‘indefinitely’ according to my oncologist) on a schedule of every three weeks like clockwork, a chest port is necessary because without one, the veins in my arm would become collapsed quite quickly making it very difficult over time to find a vein to use for needle insertion that will deliver the drugs via intravenous drip.  The port itself a triangular shape and thicker than I expected it to be.  It is typically placed beneath the skin just below the collar bone.  Because the port has raised bumps on each of the three corners, once implanted the nurses can feel for those three bumps and know where the center of the port is for insertion of the needle.

At my pre-op appointment with the surgeon, who looked ridiculously young with an over-sized mug of a half downed and likely cold cappuccino sitting on her desk, she explained all of this to me by showing me exactly what the port looked like. She had one handy sitting on her desk.  I could touch it and fiddle with it (right after I picked it up off the floor because I immediately dropped it in my clumsy attempt to hide my shock that it was PLASTIC. Plastic?  Ten years ago after my bi-lateral mastectomy, I opted for no reconstruction because I didn’t want anything foreign in my body.  Good grief.)

“Plastic?” I asked her with an unrecognizable chirpy voice.  She just smiled and said there were ports made of metal, like titanium, but those would prohibit me from getting accurate MRI’s and other scans medically necessary down the road.

Ohhhh. Well, then.  Plastic it is.  And the color purple is nice, a lovely easter shade.  Are there any other color choices? I wanted to ask her, but I decided not to sound stupid after that chirpy voice had just come out of my mouth.

So, instead I asked “Where does it connect inside?”   Given that they stick needles into arm veins when there is no port available, I was curious to know what vein lives inside my chest  that they’d connect this purple plastic thing into.   It was an answer I wasn’t anticipating.

“It goes directly into your heart.”

HOLY SHIT!  MY HEART?     My…. HEART???

Now, if hubby had been with me, I’d have grabbed his arm and likely squeezed it to a size substantially smaller.  But hubby was away on a trip I insisted he not cancel…a reunion of his high school football team that he’d organized and planned for almost two straight years. I knew this reunion was hugely important to him.   Fifty years ago his team went undefeated two years in a row, winning their conference championships both years (they didn’t have state playoffs back then.)  In Ohio, football is a big deal…so he flew back to the little town of Aurora where he grew up and connected with these guys who he’d grown up with.  Some went on to play pro after college.  My hubby went on to become an All American in lacrosse, having never seen a lacrosse stick until he was a freshman at Denison University.  These guys are all hard core athletes…the reunion was a three day event, the high school rolled out the red carpet for them, and teammates came from far and wide to be there.  I desperately wanted hubby to go, and  have a reprieve from this cancer shit…because it affects him in a deeply emotional way  that only devoted hubby’s would understand. So, at my insistence, he went.  Which is why I was solo in the surgeons office that day.

As all physicians do, she began to explain the risks of this surgery and as she went on, the color began to drain from my face.  “It’s a confined space there without much wiggle room.  There’s a possibility that I could puncture your lung. But, don’t worry!  The hole heals up in about an hour or so, and we’d just give you oxygen in the meantime until its closed.”

Once I found that chirpy voice again, I asked about risk of infection.  Overall the risk is low, but she of course had to divulge all risk factors, which she did quite well. Please oh please let Portia not get infected, I prayed to myself.

Then I asked about exact placement.  Turns out I had choices…as long as there was a flat surface behind it, it could really go anywhere.  But I had to keep in mind accessibility and comfort.  Typically just beneath the collar bone, but she could try to move it to where it wouldn’t interfere with my wardrobe necklines.  I made sure she understood that I was only concerned about my golf swing.  “Are you right or left handed?” she wanted to know.  After I told her I was right handed, she was pleased because she didn’t want to put it on the right side anyhow because that’s where my cancer was surgically removed seven weeks ago.  They try to avoid cancer locales.  I stood up and demonstrated my swing in an understated way.  Hmmm, not real sure about placement on the left either…could be in the way.         No matter…my game isn’t great anyhow.  Maybe Portia would balance my swing out better.

Then I asked how long one of these things would really last. That was my very last question, because the answer left me so rattled, I was weepy on my drive home.  “The longest one I’m aware of was over seven years…but the cancer outran the patient by then.  The port was still working great though.”

I left her office only to find all elevators out of service. A medical building with ALL elevators out of service?  Her office was on the sixth floor, so I hoofed it down the stairs trying to find the lobby.  But the door below the 2nd floor was the basement.  Where the hell was the lobby?  The lobby IS the first floor. What the hell?  So, I hoofed it back up a level.  Nope…second floor.  I hoofed it back down a level.  Nope the basement.   God damnit!  I want OUT of this building.  So while I was fuming, the elevator door in the basement suddenly burst open with a crowd inside packed like sardines.  I pushed my way in.  The button for Lobby was illuminated.  When the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward, I prayed.  I’m not a religious person, but I prayed anyhow.  And before I knew it the doors burst open once again, and there was the lobby.  All of us raced out like a stampede at record speed.  I then was focused on finding the machine where I could prepay my ticket for the garage.  I looked everywhere.  Unable to find it, I asked someone nearby.  “Do you know where the prepay machine is for the parking garage?”

“I think its by the elevators inside the garage.” he said.  Great those damn elevators…all broken, including the garage elevator from the lobby. So, I walked outdoors and stepped over the construction barricade that was to have blocked my way to the most direct route to the sidewalk. Once there, I walked briskly to the garage entry where cars drive in.  There was thick tape strung there too with ‘WET PAINT’ signs hanging on it,  blocking my way to the low concrete median that separated incoming and outgoing cars.  I stepped over that and stepped onto the bright fresh yellow paint job.  Then I had to think about the fastest route down to seven levels below me where I parked my car in the space apparently meant for deep subterranean termites.  I got there by using the ramp that cars drive to climb out of the depths of darkness back up to street level…so I was actually hoofing it against traffic.  NOT fun.  Finally I made it all the way to the bottom level and headed to the elevator where two people waiting there instantly asked me if the elevators could possibly be broken. “Yes, they are…happy hiking!”  I glanced around for the prepay ticket machine.  Nothing.  So I asked these annoyed people who’d been waiting too long for an elevator that wasn’t coming if they knew where the machine was.  ‘In the lobby of the medical building behind the pharmacy door,” they said.  Well, SHIT.

I hoofed it back up those damn ramps, leaving them in the dust as they tried to stay with me.  I barreled back across the wet paint, jumped to the sidewalk, leaving yellow footprints as I went, and burst back through the construction zone.  Inside the lobby once more, I was winded.  And ready to cry.  I went to the pharmacy and looked behind their door.  No machine.  I walked up to the register in the back and asked.  “Oh, they moved it just to the left of  the construction barriers  blocking access to the broken elevators.  It’s hard to see, really.”

Back to the broken elevators, I followed the construction wall and peeked around the corner.  BINGO. Got my credit card out, paid for my parking and raced back outside.  Now there were construction GUYS there…so I took the handicap ramp instead to the sidewalk below, ran back through the yellow paint, down the seven ramps of  garage hell, and got into my car.  Where I sat and sobbed.  For about five minutes.

Then I chastised myself and started the engine.  Chevy Tahoes weren’t meant for these stupid old garages…I ducked my head every time I had to drive in one, certain those low concrete ceilings would sheer off the top of my Tahoe (and me). After carefully navigating my way to the exit with the precision of a finely threaded needle, I at last got to the gate where two cars were ahead of me.  I saw the first driver in line put their ticket into the machine that opened the gate immediately…they drove off.  Then the car ahead of me dropped their ticket trying to feed it into the machine.  They had  to open their door and retrieve it.  They tried again.  Success.  But the gate didn’t  open.  The ticket was spit back out.  They inserted it a second time.  The gate didn’t open.

Wide eyed, I sat there staring.  Then I could see the driver lean out further, seemingly talking to no one…so figured there was someone on the intercom inside the kiosk where normally a parking attendant would stand, telling them what the problem might be.  FIFTEEN MINUTES later, I gently honked my horn.  The driver stuck his head back out the window, looking directly to me and demanded I not honk at him.  What’s going on up there? I asked kindly…well, as kindly as I could manage.   Turns out, he couldn’t find the prepay machine, and so the voice on the intercom was running the credit card numbers from some unseen location.  ARGHHHHHH.  Another five minutes later, the gate finally swung up to let the guy drive out.  Adios! 

I drove up, fed my ticket in and the gate swung up immediately.  I left a bit of rubber as my lead foot hit the accelerator.  Traffic in the city was heavy for mid-morning hours, but I cranked up the radio and focused on meditating as I inched along.

But I digress…

The surgery itself was easy…outpatient, and I was given a ‘local’ type of anesthesia, but don’t remember one thing once they started the drip. Next thing I knew, I was in recovery.  No oxygen and  no nausea from anesthesia.  Major relief!

On our way home from the hospital just an hour after I woke up,  hubby and I stopped for a late day breakfast at my favorite spot in Sausalito.  We’ve been regulars there for 16 years. I get the exact same thing EVERY time…the ‘veggie storm’ scramble with fresh fruit instead of hash browns, and an English muffin. Typically I’d get their vanilla latte too, but I’ve walked away from those for awhile…without taste buds, its rather a  frustrating waste on me now. I look forward to that breakfast once a week with great anticipation.  Wonderful local spot, wonderful owners, and simple good food, although I couldn’t vouch for much other than my Veggie Storm.

But, I digress yet again.

So TODAY, Portia (newly installed just a mere 48 hours ago) and I sailed through the infusion process in fine form, just as I did without her three weeks ago.  It was all pretty much the same in terms of the drug line up…first a bag of anti-nausea drugs, followed by the two chemo drugs dripping one after the other, followed by the two gene specific targeting drugs (also administered one after the other), followed by Heparin to prevent blood clots that are a potential risk of infusions.

THEN Portia was released of the IV needle  (pain free, I might add…both going in and going out), and then I was given a shot of Neulasta…which is to ensure I produce more white blood cells over the next two weeks, because all those drugs will cause the white blood cell count to drop very low…as happened after my last infusion three weeks ago.  So low in fact, that they delayed my port surgery pushing it back two days due to high risk of infection.  They quickly got me an injection of Neupogen which boosted my white blood cell count quickly over a matter of days, confirmed by yet another blood draw… and surgery took place at long last. It all worked out just fine, even though it was an unexpected delay.

I’m feeling well, I’m feeling strong, I’m not looking back and I’m thankful I’m in very caring and capable medical hands.  I have the best team.  THE BEST.  My nurse today was delightful, young and actually knows my daughter…from the small world of competitive sailing.  We took a selfie, me in the infusion chair with nurse smiling broadly behind me.  I texted it to my daughter….gotta love this age of instant communication! I’d post it here, but my Portia might scare a few of you in her raw appearance, and quite frankly, next to adorable nurse, I don’t look so hot.  So instead I’ll post a photo of my gypsy-esque attire that I wore on my noggin today.  I get a bit cold sitting in that infusion room for hours on end, so I didn’t want my head to be cold too.  The receptionist was lovely to compliment my new look.  Yup…it’s my new normal.  No biggie.

I GOT THIS.       I SO GOT THIS!

gypsy look

 

 

Fall Is In The Air And Chemo Is In My Hair

Summer is over but these blooms aren't convinced even when the afternoon sun has faded away.

Summer is over but these blooms aren’t convinced even when the afternoon sun has faded away.

Today is another beautiful day here in northern California. Sunny, clear skies as the fog has retreated back to the coast for the bulk of the day. But as the afternoon hours press on, the sun is beginning to fade and I can feel just a wee bit of a chill in the air. Our flowerbeds are still in glorious bloom, but change is coming.

And, change is coming for me as well. Chemo is clearly working, as exactly sixteen days after round one, my hair is beginning to fall. No biggie, it’s only temporary. It’s rather odd to have so much hair sitting in my hand, but I’ve been fully prepared. Waiting, almost. Wondering which would be the last day I’d feel like me when I’m out in public. If tomorrow might be the day I’ll feel like an imposter when I wear my newly purchased wig, or possibly a scarf instead.

I’ve spent the better part of the day wondering if I should just get those clippers and deputize my husband, allowing him to take charge and buzz it all off for me. But…it’s only dropping in strands.  Small groupings of 10 to 15 strands in a pass.  But it’s just a matter of days, or maybe hours, before those small groupings become small clumps…and I sure don’t want to be in line at the grocery store missing a massive clump of hair I’ve no idea has fallen off, leaving a bald spot back there that only the customer behind me can see.   AWKWARD.  What to do?  Buzz now or buzz later?  One more day of feeling like me or one less day of hanging on to something that is clearly departing, no matter my wishes for an extended stay.

It’s not the loss of hair…it’s the loss of incognito. No flying under the radar this time around. And, of course I knew that…which is why I figured I wanted all of you to hear it from me this time, not from the scuttlebutt on the street. Because, well, you know…it’s like that telephone game. Most people really do mean well, but somehow the facts just get lost in the translation from ear to ear…and by the time they get back to me, I’m already on death’s door. Don’t ya just hate that?

With each new transition from one season to the next, change is inherent. Much of it is predictable, like the drop in temperatures, the shifting skies, the gathering of winter clouds.

Some changes are almost imperceptible, they are so slow to happen. The subtle change of the leaves on the trees, the lower cast of the sun each day as earth quietly shifts its axis rotation.

With each strand of hair that falls from my head, I wonder if maybe it will grow back next time a wonderful new color…you know, like in those Clairol hair ads. Rich, lustrous locks befitting a woman of my age. No white or gray, but something along the lines of…maybe Joan Rivers blonde. She looked wonderful for her age (just a few decades older than myself)…and although I understand that was the work of many talented surgeons and hair stylists, hey…it’s not too much to ask for, is it? Or, how about Melissa Gilbert? Have you seen her lately? Gorgeous red hair. We’ve got redheads in our family…it’s not a stretch. Maybe chemo will give me hair just like hers. I could throw everyone for a loop: “I know, right? Ya, the chemo did it!”

Chemo is working…my hair is falling out. That’s the GOOD news! The bad news? Well, I’m hard pressed to find any, unless hubby shaves a Mohawk on my head. Don’t laugh. Could happen. He’s never wielded clippers before in his life.

Here’s to YOU, Joan.   R.I.P.

Life goes by fast.

Enjoy it.

Calm down.

It’s all funny.

            –Joan Rivers

Life Is Never About Just One Thing

Well, it’s been quite some time since I posted anything here.

“Where the hell ya been?” you might (or might not) be asking. Well, let me tell you. The primary reason for blog neglect was to focus on the wrap up of my original writing project, a memoir that was emotionally slow going. Remember? I told you in my intro post that it was the reason I began this blog in the first place…to encourage the ‘habit’ of writing.  I’d say that goal has been achieved…well, up until four months ago anyhow. Since January and as springtime turned to summer, not only did I have close to 50,000 words for my memoir, but my hubby and I had also managed to market and sell our home. It seemed the thing to do in the midst of a red-hot sellers’ market (but still no easy task, I might add. Feats included staging, creating a website, creating marketing brochures, and holding open houses). Then much to our delight, we sold our home (success!), held a massive garage sale, made endless trips to Goodwill, and with total serendipity we stumbled upon the home of our downsized dreams…by which time we were exhausted.

July rolled around and while we were busy unpacking a multitude of moving cartons, we realized that fifty percent of what we’d moved with us was going to have to live in the garage because there was just no place to put it. Soon it was clear a small addition to the home would be wise…so we set in motion a few contractor interviews and requested detailed write ups of our remodel scope. All this was going on while we both continued to juggle our working lives. It was a very busy and highly stressful time, when it should have been a very busy and joyful time.

The stress came from several directions. First, we sold to the buyers from hell. They were delightful up until closing day. They’d offered us a sixty-day lease back period, which we thought was great because it allowed us the time to find our next home, but in actuality it turned out to be an absolute nightmare because these people morphed into snakes in the grass. To call them incredibly brash and intrusive landlords would be a sweeping understatement.

By the time our moving van finally arrived to whisk us away, I was ready to torch the place. These buyers were so toxic that they oozed an insipid sense of creepiness throughout the property that I just couldn’t shake. My husband asked me, as we were pulling out of the driveway for the very last time, if I wanted him to stop the car and take a moment to say goodbye to the property. “No, I want to flick a match behind me, so you better just keep on driving before I absolutely do it.”

Ahhhhhh…finally with all that behind us I was really looking forward to some well deserved vacation time and ultimately getting back to my memoir. And I missed blogging. But trust me, it’s a good thing I’d stayed away from blogging or you’d all be reading about those nasty people, post after post.

So, now we’re into July, and my stress level is pretty much off the charts.  I’d had an alarming discovery just weeks earlier (while still in the throes of the lunatics who’d bought our home), and now I’ve been to see my surgeon. My cancer surgeon.

And this is where life throws a major curve ball my way.

For those of you who have an interest, I’ve created a category (in the column to the right, towards the bottom) called MY CANCER JOURNEY.  That’s where you’ll find my posts which are specific to this part of my life, and you can follow along accordingly if you so choose. I wanted to create a special spot for these types of posts so that my entire website isn’t just loaded with nothing but this topic. Because, after all, you and I both know that life is never just about one thing. (my first post is titled ‘Cancer Will Never Define Me’, and here…I’ve got the direct link for you in case you are computer challenged and can’t find that column to the right easily.  Um, Mom, I might be speaking to you here…LOL.   http://wp.me/P2dc6t-fa)     Just to be clear, CANCER WILL NEVER DEFINE ME. It might dictate a new normal, but it will NEVER define me. So, for those of you not truly interested in all this medical crap…no worries. It won’t hurt my feelings one iota, because if I could, I’d be running in the opposite direction myself.

 

 

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