3 out of 4

I’m 4 days out from the 3rd chemo. 3 out of the 4 big ones are done. Whew. It’s again a little worse—in terms of the fatigue—but I knew that would be the case.

Mom was in town for a long weekend—it was so incredibly great to see her. We had brunch with Beth’s parents Saturday morning (LOVED Judy’s coffee cake!). Saturday night was the cookout—planned so mom could also meet some amazing people. And wow did she. I had no idea that the turn out would be so great. I wasn’t involved in the RSVPs, so I didn’t realize who was coming. I’m glad that I was still on a steroid-induced energy high so I could enjoy it all. Mom did too—as did everyone (I hope). I still cannot believe how friends can make such an impact. Knowing people are out there that care is enough to get me through the next couple of down days. You guys ROCK!

This past treatment went A-OK. I still get a little feeling in my chest going in—can’t quite explain it, but it is sort of a negative association deal. I have it much stronger right after chemo (ie. NOW), but it does subside before the next one. I hope that trend continues. After the 4th of these big ones, I’ll get 3 weeks off before we change over to the Taxol and Herceptin. The Taxol is a breast cancer-specific chemo drug and the Herceptin is actually an antibody. It’s geared to attack proteins that are on the surface of the cancer cells. So I’ll be down to 1 chemo drug instead of 3 each treatment, but I’ll get to go in every week. I’m hoping that the side effects—as predicted—will be less severe, else it’s likely to be a long 12 weeks.

OK. Maybe not much of an update, but the brain is doing its usual slow down. I’ll try and get something up here again soon…

The "Fancy" doo-rag was a hit! Very comfy... 

Thanks...for being there. 

Mom and I...it was wonderful to have her around for the weekend! 

Apparently I need to be eating something when I'm at chemo...this time it was a brownie--provided by the nurses. 

Grasping for normal

If ever you think to yourself “I wish my life wasn’t so normal,” think again. There have been 2 recent times that I have screamed for normal. The first time (and this one lasted a long time) was during the biology project at work. It seemed like the never ending project. I guess it kind of was. I just kept hoping for a normal work day, where I would do into work, do my work, and come home from work to have dinner, play with the dogs (and the cats), watch some TV, and go to bed. Sound boring? Sure, but I didn’t get a lot of that during biology. Eventually the biology project slowed down (it’s not really done yet, but that’s another story), and it seemed that I might get more of the “boring.” Then came the current situation.

So this situation has taken me from normal again. Last week when I was struggling with the chemo-induced fatigue, I was completely “sick” of being on the couch. The couch was something that I craved during biology but now I dread the couch time. Oh sure, I still sit on the couch and watch TV. The last few days I’ve done other things to ensure that the time on the couch was well deserved. I’ve managed to hit the treadmill (albeit just for a fast walk), played softball (I was pretty busy in left field), played basketball (got there late, but got some good playing time), and tonight I worked out with Zoi (the Columbus women’s Ultimate team).

As I type this I’m super aware that I am in need of a shower, but part of me wants to enjoy the feeling. I feel like I’ve done some good things for my body and I smell like it too. I don’t want to wash that away for fear that I won’t feel this for awhile. It’s a strange fear that I have—when I’ve had a treatment and when I’m recovering from a treatment. It’s the fear that I’ll be down and out (my terminology for the “bad” time after chemo) forever. I think this week I’ve had something click in my head that is telling me to do. OK, I can’t really run around like crazy—I’m pretty out of shape. But I know that I can go do stuff and it’s good for me to do so. Sure I have to worry about low blood counts and the like, but one step at a time. One treatment at a time.

It’s been a good week.

Not your normal posting...

I started to write a post last night and lost my train of thought. That's not uncommon, I'm finding, during the week after treatment. Apparently these drugs are similar to alcohol in their ability to knock out brain cells. Let's just hope it's not permanent.

The thing I most wanted to post on was the yet unnamed lymph node. IT'S GETTING SMALLER! On a whim I gave it a poke last night, and wow, I can tell the difference. Holy lymph fluid Batman--the drugs aren't just to make my mind go numb and my hair fall out!! Progress is being made!! And I got the weekly blood-draw today. White blood cells are hanging tough, but falling. I expect that next week I'll be back on antibiotics. Bring on the green leafy vegetables!!

OK, there's the mohawk... 

So I got another chance to play with the hair. Decided against the mohawk, but I did have it for about 3 minutes! 

Chemo--the saga continues

OK, so it wasn’t Jenn’s driving. After the first chemo, I drove with Jenn, Jane, and Adrienne out to DC to see Kerri. On the drive out, I didn’t do so good, but that doesn’t surprise me when I’m in a car that I’m not driving. [Haven’t I mentioned this scenario before?] In any case, last night after the second round of chemo, I felt some of the nauseousness that was there after the first round. It was totally bearable, and again, the oral meds they give do wonders.

I’m doing OK today—went to the OSU spring game, which in and of itself is a weird event. TONS of Buckeye fans swooped into the Shoe to watch Ohio State play themselves. Scarlet v. Gray, or Red v. White according to the head umpire. It’s just odd—who do you root for? In any case, it was a gorgeous day and the grass of the field was green. They expected 40,000 fans, they got almost 64,000. But I digress.

I spoke with Dr. Yadav (you may remember him as the poison doctor). He said that with the remaining treatments, I will likely see the fatigue increase, but not the nausea and vomiting. Good—I’ll take being tired over puking any day. And the 2 pieces of good news: my white blood cell count was back in the normal range, and the doc noted that the legendary lymph node was smaller. BAM, take that you cancer ridden life saver. Hm. I haven’t named it yet (recall the tumor is Fred). Nothing comes to mind now, so I’ll have to think on it.
In any case, I’m now half way through the rugged first half of treatment. In other words, I’m half way to the easier part. I’m just going to keep on keeping on in the mean while.

Beth kindly went and picked up Dairy Queen during my second chemo. I'm not sure the other patients liked it so much, but I'm not sure if it's because they were jealous, or if it was just completely unappealing to them. 

Take a look at the sides of that doo! This is going to require some serious maintenance. 

Be careful what you ask for

OK, sure a few days ago I was seemingly complaining that the predictors of the start of alopecia (loss of hair) were wrong. No, I wasn’t complaining that I wasn’t loosing my hair (Dan :) ). I just think that when one is getting ready to experience something completely foreign, any insight comes in handy. And when that insight fails to prove itself, it’s disconcerting. I knew that it would fall out—it is more rare for it not to fall out. But I had mentally prepared for day 14, and on day 14 (and on day 17) it didn’t happen. It is sure as heck happening now.

It’s been thinning for the last week or so, and showers and head-rubs have been an adventure. The last 2 mornings, I have awoken to major “holes” in the sides—where my head rubs the most on the pillows. And today, it looks down right sad. I think the next step will be to take the clippers to it without a guard at all. That way there’s no question that I really don’t have hair (what is still attached needs assistance to fall the rest of the way out, and I don’t really have time to sit down and pull it (painlessly) out).

I think my leg hair is less “loose,” but I think that’s only because I made it through the 3 weeks between chemos without completely losing it. I suspect that since I just got another treatment yesterday, it will come out more gracefully now.

Day 17

Strangely, I still have my hair. By all means I shouldn’t, or at least one would think not. I guess that “day” doesn’t fall on the same day post-chemo for everyone. Perhaps it’s because what I do have on my head isn’t heavy enough (ie. long enough) to fall out. Heck, maybe I just ain’t going to completely lose it. Whatever. I am still getting chemo, and I still might have to wear a hat on my head at night when the temperatures dip.

Things have been relatively quiet this past week. My body has been doing seemingly just fine. I still feel a semblance of fatigue, but nothing like a couple weeks ago. Figures—I get my next treatment Friday. Well, maybe. I found out today that my white blood cell count is low—lower then the normal range. I have antibiotics to take when this happens, but if the counts don’t go up or if I get an infection, Friday’s treatment will be out. Sometimes I am amazed at all of the things that factor into all of this. Every weird twitch, every new ache…makes me wonder “is it the chemo?” I wonder if I will think like that for the next six months.

I think this is the lull before the next storm. It is a good sign, though, that I have gotten some “good” time in between. I’ve been told that the side effects more or less repeat in the same pattern. But I was also told that my hair would fall out on day 14. It’s day 17.

Buzzzzz

I dried my hair to completion this morning with a towel. It was easy enough to do since I had Beth take the clippers to it last night. Guard number 4 was in place—and I had thought we’d work our way down to the number 2. But in the end, I decided this was short enough. My first thought when I saw it was how much I looked like Dana. I know he wanted me to also go blonde so he could see what HE might look like with blonde hair (selfish bastard :) )…I decided against that in the end—I’m freaking enough people out right now.

It’s actually really fun that I’ve gotten this opportunity—and I do view it as an opportunity at many levels. At a fun and basic level, I got to cut off my hair (which was a GOOD thing because I had been pondering doing so, but had spent so much time growing it out it was hard to convince myself that I should), and now I’ve gotten the chance to see what I look like with the Sinead O’Conner look. OK, I don’t have her beautiful face, but it’s not as bad as I thought it could be.

I went to the restroom here at work a few minutes ago. As I was walking there I realized that now I’m REALLY likely to scare a few coworkers in there. I guess I needn’t worry about that—it’s their problem, not mine. Friends did get me some new earrings—something that I hope might help distinguish me from the little brother I didn’t have (mine are all older). But if not, so be it.

For what it’s worth, that fatigue thing has faded. I even managed to play some basketball last night. So perhaps I’ll have a better understanding as to how my body is going to react for the next treatment. In the mean time, I’m just going to try and do good things for it and get it ready for the next round of poison. I recently read (YAY!! I’ve been READING!!) that when curing cancer, one has to base life’s schedule on the chemo schedule. I understand that now. Hopefully the events that I can’t control will work out those terms…

The doo a week after chemo. Hasn't fallen out yet, but the tingling scalp tells me it's coming! I think I look like my brother Dana... 

This is at my first chemo; the red line is fluid going IN, not out. I think by the next treatment, I'll be sans hair... 

Fatigue

fa·tigue n.

1. Physical or mental weariness resulting from exertion.
2. Something, such as tiring effort or activity, that causes weariness: the fatigue of a long hike.
3. Physiology. The decreased capacity or complete inability of an organism, an organ, or a part to function normally because of excessive stimulation or prolonged exertion.

I think the definition of fatigue is interesting. All of the above relate to activity or exertion causing the fatigue…sort of that “wear and tear” idea. I can honestly say that I haven’t done any activities or exerted myself lately. In fact since Monday, I’ve been barely able to put a run of 5 minutes together on my feet. I’ve managed to teach my class twice, and I’ve made it into work for a few hours at a time. But seriously—I’m not even sure I can put into words how it feels…this thing they call fatigue.

I know tired—I’m an Ultimate player. I’ve pulled all-nighters, I’ve had runs of sleepless nights because of work…but this is crazy. It’s the weakness that one feels post-fever, but without the aches that come with a fever. And when my body is really trying to shut me down, it actually cries from the inside. I can feel my inner being (whether that means my cells/tissues or whether that means my soul, I don’t know) yelling at me. I get breathless just trying to have a conversation.

Sleep helps, most definitely, although it’s not always easy to fall asleep. My MIND knows that I’ve had “enough” sleep, so it doesn’t want to shut down. But my body has its own mind for now. And I have to say that really pisses me off. I know it’s a control thing, and all along I have been trying to control this—at least how I handle THIS. I have to give up some of the control right now, or at least I have to find a different way to take control. This week, I took control by deciding that I couldn’t go on a trip to California for work. I hated having to admit that. At the beginning of the week, I figured each day would get better. Perhaps each day has, but I can’t tell that yet. So instead, I’m staying put. I’ll do what I can with each day, I’ll hang out with friends, perhaps I’ll try and enjoy a good cup of coffee (I have been missing that). And I’ll spend some time telling my inner self that it’s fine to be angry at me—I’m angry at it too. Perhaps we can come to an agreement to fix the situation.

Dr. Poison

I actually called my chemo doc that at my first appointment with him. What else can he do to me? His name is actually Sanjay Yadav. He’s a really nice guy—very genuine, very concerned, and very informative. He has already given me his cell phone number—to use even when he is NOT the doc on call. He laughed at my 3-ring binder. Yeah, I put together a binder with all sorts of information. Cancer stuff, medication information, insurance papers, etc…it’s my style I guess—to have this on hand. He saw me showing it to Walker at my first treatment. He giggled at me from across the room.

So the first chemo treatment…I was there about 4 hours…they say it won’t always take that long, but since it was my first, they wanted to be sure I handled the process OK. I guess I did—I drove home after (with Walker in the car). She was a trooper. We sat among 10-12 other chairs…not all filled. But those that were filled were occupied with women all probably over the age of 60. They sort of looked at me funny—in the sense that “hey, she’s too young for this.” Perhaps in some way they were thinking that “she’s young enough to do this.” There was one other new patient there. She had a little breakdown when she realized she needed all of the prescriptions filled BEFORE starting that day (and she was already hooked up). But the nurses rounded up the meds she needed to get by until she got hers filled. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be OK. The woman next to her (Norma Jean) was starting her 2nd 12 weeks of treatment. She was filled with advice, but also chatted at length about the bad stuff that can happen after treatment. I almost asked her to stop, but I guess it’s good to know the good and the bad.

The procedure itself was pretty uneventful. I had my laptop with me (all of the ladies there were rather taken aback by that), and Walker had reading material. They basically plug the tubes into the port and start pushing fluids. They give 2 different kinds of anti-nausea/vomiting meds first, along with one of the oral pills I have to take for those first 3 days of treatment. Then the 3 different drugs (fluorouracil, epirubicin, and cytoxan—and yes, I can pronounce all of them) are administered—each separately. The first 2 are “pushed”—the nurse has to use a syringe to get them into through the port. The last one is an IV drip. So by the end, I felt as though my eyeballs were going to pop out from all of the fluids.

They also push you to drink a ton of fluids—it helps with the cleansing part, which minimizes the potential side effects. I haven’t felt too many—I was nauseous that first night, but I was also in a car that I was not driving (ie. motion sickness evil). But since then, I’ve just had raging heart-burn and the fatigue part has set in (hey, you chose to read this). Unfortunately it’s not the fun fatigue—the drop on the couch and go to dreamland kind. It’s just more like recovering from the flu—low energy. But my appetite has been good (and steroid aided), and I am getting good sleep. The drugs they give for the first 3 days after treatment have to be amazing. They have kept me going and strong so far. I’m still going to have to deal with some stuff, but at least it’s not the vision of 20 years ago. And I am beginning to crave much healthier things. I haven’t had coffee in 4 days and I am loving a glass of juice in the morning. Might not seem like a lot, but for me, that’s all good stuff.

I go for my first blood draw tomorrow—a couple of days early since I have to travel for work. Hopefully the blood count will stay high and I’ll stay free of infection so the next treatment won’t have to be postponed. Dr. Poison is doing his magic—I can feel it happening.

It’s a bouncing baby tumor!

Ok, maybe that’s not funny. But it is good news, actually. Turns out that in the tissue that the doc took from my left girl there was as tumor—a very tiny mass, only about 4mm big (if you aren't into the metric system, that's well short of 1/2 inch). It was invasive (for those keeping score—invasive ductal cancer), which means it was invading the neighboring ducts and passageways to the lymph node. AHA! That explains the adenocarcinoma IN the lymph node. I guess it’s hard to say that I was hoping that they’d find cancer in the breast tissue, but I am very pleased that they did. It turns out that the little guy (I think I’ll call it “Fred”—no offense if you know or are a “Fred”) tested positive for a bunch of biological gobbly-gook that means it is very treatable with the chemo drugs that are out there. I guess there is a new drug that is all the rage as well—so I might even get that one. I’ll find out more today…I get to meet the man who is going to poison me for the next 6 months.

Does anyone know what is up with Race for the Cure stuff being all pink? I’ve run the race several times, and I KNOW that pink is the color of choice…but why does it have to be pink? I am not a fan of pink. Miss Dorothy (the little lady who previously owned my house) was apparently a fan—so much so that 80% of the interior of the place was indeed pink (keyword WAS). I’m just not sure how to take it. Pink is feminine. Pink “represents” everything girly. Little girls want to wear pink dresses. I just find it odd that at a time in a woman’s life when they need to be the strongest they can be, they get pink to wear. OK, I will wear it—Beth noticed on the Komen website that it’s not just survivors that wear pink. From the Columbus website:

sur•vi vor n. - One who carries on despite hardships or trauma; one who perseveres; one who lives through affliction.
Komen Columbus cherishes and honors our Survivors…our heroes. These women and men are our inspiration and light the way in our efforts to eradicate breast cancer as a life threatening disease. It is our promise to celebrate and honor, as well as, provide encouragement and hope to the women and men living with breast cancer – from the newly diagnosed to long-term Survivors, their families and friends.

I’ll get over the pink. I know what it represents, and for that I can deal with it. I actually have a few pink t-shirts…playing Ultimate will do that to you.